


Everything That Matters

by enigmaticblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas' last words were, "Oh, God, I would give anything to change this." He didn't believe in answered prayers anymore, so he was surprised to wake up two years in the past, in a world that Dean and Sam have saved. Dean was busy trying to settle into that normal life he'd promised Sam he'd try, and he was not thrilled when Cas shows up, putting all of that at risk.</p><p>Still, Dean owed Cas, and they're both going to have to let go of the past in order to move forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the deancasbigbang on LJ with artwork by kruel_angel. Many thanks to my beta, thomasina75, who made this a much better fic than it would have been otherwise.

His automatic weapon spat bullets at the Croats bearing down on them, and Cas fell back as they closed in on his position. Risa had already fallen, and as Cas fired, the man on his right went down, too, under a pile of bloodthirsty Croats.

 

Cas had known that this was a suicide mission—he’d known he was going to die this time, but he’d followed Dean’s orders because he hadn’t known how to do anything else.

 

Two more Croats went down under his gunfire, but Cas couldn’t fire fast enough as they attacked, and he collapsed in a tangle of limbs. The Croats tore at his clothing, at his flesh, and it occurred to him that he didn’t fear death as much as turning into one of _them_. It would almost be a relief to die.

 

As a piece of glass sliced through his cheek, then pierced his larynx and esophagus, Cas felt his throat fill with blood. He struggled to draw breath, fighting against the pain, fighting to _live_ —an instinct he couldn’t quite make sense of, given the last few years.

 

Cas supposed that just proved he was human.

 

He pressed a hand over the wound on his neck, could hear himself gurgling, and the Croats moved on, apparently viewing him as good as dead.

 

The blood seeped through Cas’ fingers to soak the front of his shirt, and he closed his eyes.

 

He hadn’t prayed in years—not since the other angels had decamped. Cas didn’t think he _had_ any faith left these days, but as the last bit of life left him, his lips moved in a silent prayer. “Oh, God, I would give anything to change this.”

 

~~~~~

 

Dean honked the horn as he pulled up in front of Lisa’s house, putting the Impala into park and waiting for Ben to emerge.

 

Ben ran out of the house, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, cleats in his free hand. He tossed both shoes and duffel into the backseat before climbing inside. Dean heard the dull clank of bats, and he grinned at his son. “Ready to go?”

 

“Mom wanted to talk to you,” Ben replied. “She’s coming out.”

 

Lisa jogged out of the house, and leaned against the driver’s door, poking her head through the window. “Are you coming to dinner tomorrow night?”

 

“I don’t know, Lisa…”

 

“Just you, me, and Ben,” Lisa promised. “None of my cousins are in town right now.”

 

Dean snorted. “Right. Yeah, okay, I’ll bring the beer.”

 

“Burgers and dogs,” she said. “You can bring buns, too.”

 

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

 

Lisa pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek, then waved at Ben through the window. “Be good.”

 

“Mom,” Ben protested.

 

“I love you,” she said with a sweet smile.

 

Ben flushed, and Dean could see Sam in him—Sam, who had protested at any show of parental concern, either from their dad or Dean. “Yeah, me too.”

 

Dean grinned and shook his head as he backed out of the driveway with a wave. “When was the last time you mowed?”

 

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. Last week?”

 

“It needs to be done again soon.”

 

Ben made a face but didn’t argue. “I’ll do it tomorrow morning.”

 

“Thank you.” Ben stared out the window, and Dean decided to turn the conversation away from chores Ben needed to do around the house. “Pizza okay for dinner tonight?” Dean asked.

 

“Coach said something about taking us to McDonald’s after practice,” Ben replied, turning to look at him with hopeful eyes. “Can I go?”

 

Dean wanted to protest. He didn’t get so much time with Ben that he willingly gave it up, but he also wanted Ben to have a real childhood, real friends. Dean had learned that the hard way over the last couple of years; he had learned to follow Lisa’s lead on what Ben could and couldn’t do, what was appropriate. Lisa had been the one to demonstrate by example what living a normal life was. “Did you ask your mom?”

 

“She said it was okay with her if it was okay with you,” Ben replied. “Please, Dean?”

 

He sighed. “Yeah, okay. We’ll play video games tonight when you get back. Not too late, huh?”

 

“Thanks!”

 

Dean pulled up in front of the baseball field, and Ben jumped out with an off-handed wave. “See ya!”

 

“See you later, buddy.”

 

The thing about Ben—and maybe most kids—was that they tended to take people for granted. Lisa had told him once that this was a good thing; after a while, Ben just assumed that Dean would always be there, so he felt free to blow Dean off as often as he liked.

 

Sam had done the same thing, and maybe that’s why it stung so much now, even though Dean tried to shrug it off.

 

Dean tried not to think about the afternoon and evening that stretched out before him, with nothing to do, and nowhere to go until Ben called him for a ride.

 

Lisa kept telling him that his life revolved too much around her and Ben, which was why she’d tried to set him up with her cousin. Sometimes, though, Dean still felt like he was living someone else’s life, and he was holding on to what he had by his fingernails. He kept waiting for his past to catch up to him, to lose the only people left in his life who mattered.

 

How could he possibly hope to have a relationship with someone when he couldn’t talk about anything more than two years in the past? And how could he trust that he wouldn’t lose them, too?

 

Dean could be happy enough with his 9 to 5 job, weekends with Ben, and the occasional dinner with Lisa. He thought, maybe, he could manage to hang on to that much.

 

But there were moments like these, when Ben reminded him so much of Sam, when Dean felt as though he was being left behind, that he felt the loss of his old life more acutely than ever.

 

He knew by now that there was nothing he could do to ease the ache in his chest.

 

With a sigh, he turned the Impala towards home and another evening alone.

 

~~~~~

 

Cas opened his eyes slowly, blinking in the bright afternoon sunlight. When they’d approached Lucifer’s hideout, the sky had been slate gray, and he thought he’d heard distant thunder mixed in with gunfire. Now, the sky was a clear blue, a color he felt as though he hadn’t seen for years.

 

Tipping his head back, Cas saw a few wisps of cloud, heard birdsong, and children shrieking.

 

Children.

 

His breath caught in his throat, and Cas rose from the wooden bench he’d been sitting on and turned around. Two girls were on the swings, being pushed by a woman in a blue dress; another three chased each other around the playground equipment—up ladders, down slides, around the monkey bars—while another woman stood and watched with an indulgent smile.

 

Cas swallowed, then looked down at himself, realizing that he wasn’t wearing the same clothes as when he’d walked into the warehouse. No, these were the jeans he’d put on two years ago, the t-shirt and jacket handed down from Dean—the clothing he’d donned when his grace had faded completely.

 

No blood, he thought, pressing his hand to his throat where the wound had been moments before. Nothing to show that he’d been dying.

 

Cas took several deep breaths, trying to control his breathing.

 

Once, long ago, when he’d still believed in answered prayers, Cas might have given God the credit for the sudden shift, for this chance. Now, Cas was faithless as well as hopeless and useless, and whatever else he’d told past-Dean hours ago. There had to be a reason he was here; someone had to be fucking with him, the way Zachariah had fucked with Dean by sending him five years into the future.

 

And maybe that was it—maybe past-Dean had said yes, and everything had been changed, leaving Cas—where, exactly?

 

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed away from the park and the laughter of children. The sound _felt_ wrong to him. Cas kept expecting to hear gunfire, shouting, the sounds of war.

 

The grassy expanse gave way to a sidewalk cutting through a residential neighborhood, small well-kept houses lining a broad street. Something about this place felt familiar, but he wasn’t comforted.

 

Cas kept waiting for the Croats to show up, and it bothered him that all he could see were neat yards and sturdy oaks and wide porches.

 

This wasn’t his world.

 

Because he couldn’t think of anything better to do, Cas kept walking, eventually taking off his jacket because of the warmth of the day.

 

The residential street gave way to businesses, and Cas ducked inside a drugstore, blinking at the air-conditioned interior, and the fluorescent lights. The rack just off to the side held a dizzying variety of magazines, and a small selection of newspapers.

 

 _USA Today_ , Cas read. _Wall Street Journal_. _Omaha World-Herald_. And the date: June 21, 2012.

 

He shouldn’t be surprised, Cas thought. That was the day the angels left, the day he lost what was left of his grace. It was the day he’d given up hope.

 

Cas swallowed hard. The date still didn’t answer the question of why the hell he was here, though. Why was he still human? Was he supposed to change things?

 

He stepped back outside without buying anything, ignoring the dirty look from the clerk and the puzzled frowns from other customers. Cas leaned up against the wall outside the building and tried to take stock; he needed a cigarette, or a pill. Amphetamines were all wrong for a time like this; he wanted something soothing—Valium, Vicodin, alcohol, absinthe, weed. Maybe a little bit of each for good measure.

 

A quick search of his pockets had Cas cursing under his breath. His stash wasn’t there; he had none of the usual pills he carried with him—stolen from people’s houses and medicine cabinets on their foraging trips. He’d looked for food and toiletries, and whatever else Chuck said they needed, but he’d looked for _this_ , too.

 

Cas had built up quite the stockpile over the last year or two, and he missed it the way he couldn’t miss Dean.

 

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

 

Cas found the wallet in his back pocket, the same one he’d carried up until a couple of months before. Jimmy Novak’s driver’s license was still there, as well as a few credit cards and a few creased bills.

 

A little more searching turned up Cas’ old cell phone, the one he’d used up until fall 2011, when the cell towers went down and never really went back up. He scrolled through his contacts—all three of them.

 

Only Dean would know about the Croatoan virus, though. Zachariah would have already sent Dean into the future, so this Dean would at least be familiar with Cas’ story. Cas couldn’t be certain that past-Dean had told Bobby about his little trip to the future, however, and Sam would have said yes already.

 

So, if Cas called anybody, it had to be Dean—the Dean of this time, anyway.

 

For a moment, he considered not making the call, giving up on whatever task he’d been brought back for, and just drifting. He’d learned enough about grifting and fraud from his Dean to eke out a life for himself. But in the end, he just couldn’t do it.

 

“Fuck,” he muttered, then hit the call button.

 

Dean picked up on the third ring. “Yeah?”

 

“It’s me. Cas,” he added for good measure, just in case Dean didn’t recognize his voice immediately.

 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice held a note of incredulity. “Why are you calling me?”

 

“I—” Cas didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone. “Where are you?”

 

“Cicero, Indiana. Same place I was the last time you popped in.” Dean paused. “Is there something wrong?”

 

Cas swallowed laughter. “No. I just—I want to see you. I’ll be there soon.”

 

“Yeah, sure, but Cas—”

 

He hung up before Dean could finish the question, and Cas took a few steadying breaths, wishing yet again for his trusty pill bottles. At least he had enough cash for a pack of cigarettes, and he’d finagle a bus ticket to Cicero somehow.

 

Or maybe he’d hitchhike, which would take less money, but would be a little more chancy when he couldn’t smite anybody he pleased. And in this worthless, useless body, there was a lot more that could go wrong, as he’d long since discovered.

 

Cas straightened, squared his shoulders, and headed inside the store again. First a cigarette, then a sandwich at the Subway he’d spotted down the street, and then he could see about getting himself from Omaha, Nebraska to Cicero, Indiana.

 

~~~~~

 

The call from Cas lingered in the back of Dean’s mind for the next two days as he fixed cars and chauffeured Ben around. He kept expecting Cas to just pop up, and when he didn’t, Dean wondered what the fuck was keeping him.

 

Not that he was planning on calling; Cas came and went as he pleased, and there was no telling what heavenly emergency had delayed him. Dean had seen Cas twice since they’d averted the apocalypse, and both times Cas was there and then gone, with nothing more than a few cryptic words.

 

Dean had gotten the impression that Cas was keeping on eye on him from a distance, and while Dean had tried to tell himself that it was the thought that counted, it hadn’t helped. The reality was that Cas—the guy he’d come to rely on to come through for him—was _gone_.

 

So, yeah, maybe Dean was still a little pissed off about that, even though he shouldn’t have expected anything different. He’d known for a long time that Cas preferred being an angel to being human—being in heaven to being on earth. Funny how knowing that didn’t help.

 

Given Cas’ propensity to just show up without regard for Dean’s schedule or things like doors, Dean was a little surprised on the third day to come home to find Cas sitting outside his apartment door. Cas had his knees pulled up to his chest, and was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket that Dean recognized as his own. In fact, that same jacket still hung in the back of his closet.

 

This was weird. This was really, fucking weird.

 

Dean approached slowly. “Cas?”

 

Cas raised his head, and Dean blinked, recognizing him immediately. _This_ Cas wasn’t supposed to exist. Cas— _Castiel_ —was in heaven, playing sheriff.

 

“Dean.” Cas rose slowly to his feet. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in.”

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You don’t normally care whether I mind.”

 

Cas shrugged. “It’s a little different this time.”

 

“I guess it would be.” Dean unlocked his door, already thinking about where the holy water was. He had a silver knife on him—he wasn’t so stupid as to go weaponless—and there was a Devil’s Trap painted on the floor under the carpeting. Dean should be covered if this was a trap or a trick.

 

“I’m human, Dean,” Cas said, following him inside. “And I’m not a demon.”

 

“Yeah, well, if you know me at all, you’ll understand when I say that I’ll be the judge of that.”

 

“Run whatever tests you’d like,” Cas responded with a shrug. “When you’re satisfied that I’m who I say I am, I’ll tell you how I got here.”

 

Holy water, silver, the wards—none of them had any effect, and Dean finally said, “All right, Cas. Spill.”

 

“This isn’t quite what I was expecting,” Cas said, looking around at the second-hand furniture and faded paint.

 

Dean frowned. “So, you’re going to tell me that you haven’t been here before, that you weren’t here two months ago.”

 

“I haven’t, and I wasn’t.”

 

Dean watched him intently. “All right. How did you get here?”

 

“Greyhound to Chicago, then I hitchhiked the rest of the way,” Cas explained, slumping on the couch.

 

“That’s not exactly what I meant.” Dean grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, and handed one to Cas. “And you know it.”

 

“You don’t recognize me?”

 

“Let’s just say that I want to hear your side before I jump to any conclusions,” Dean hedged, perching on the arm of the recliner. “So, let’s hear it.”

 

“The last time I saw you, it was 2014,” Cas began, his elbows resting on his knees. “I think you know that.”

 

“I suspected,” Dean replied evenly.

 

“I don’t know what happened to you,” Cas said. “We went into the warehouse and ran into a bunch of Croats. You—well, the other you, knew what we were walking into.”

 

“Yeah, he did.” Dean took a long pull from his bottle. “So?”

 

“So, I was dying when I woke up in a park in Omaha, Nebraska, in the same spot where I lost my grace completely. And then I called you. There’s not much more to tell.” Cas spread his hands. “So, here I am.”

 

Dean didn’t know if he could believe Cas’ story—and he didn’t know if he could afford not to. “Why?”

 

“Hell if I know,” Cas admitted readily. “I called you because I figured that if you needed help, if I was sent back two years for some reason, you’d know.”

 

Dean hesitated, then said, “The apocalypse is over, Cas. Sam said yes to Lucifer, and managed to take both of them down to hell. We stopped the world from ending.”

 

Cas blinked slowly, then sagged back into the couch cushions. “But—wait. What about—”

 

“Sam went to hell, I survived, you—the other you—and Bobby were killed, but then got resurrected.” Dean hesitated for a moment. “And Cas— _Castiel_ —went back to heaven to bring a new order or something.”

 

“Right. Great. Nice to know that some version of myself was welcomed back with open arms.” Sarcasm dripped from Cas’ words. “If you saved the world, then what the fuck am I doing here?”

 

“Hell if I know,” Dean replied.

 

They just stared at one another for a long moment, and Cas was the one to break it off, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

 

“Look,” Dean began awkwardly. “If you need somewhere to stay, you can hang here.”

 

He didn’t want to make the offer. Having Cas stay with him meant dealing with his old life and Dean remembered what this Cas was like. Dean had a life that didn’t involve hunting or angels—or even former angels.

 

But Dean owed him; Dean had gotten Cas into this mess. He had an obligation to help Cas out of it.

 

Cas took a long drink, downing half the bottle in one go. “What about you? Are you still hunting?”

 

“No, I’m a mechanic now,” Dean replied. “You want to stay?”

 

“Where else am I supposed to go?” Cas rubbed his eyes wearily. “Fuck. I don’t even know what to do at this point. I don’t know why someone would want to bring me back.”

 

“So, crash here,” Dean replied. “I owe you.”

 

“You don’t owe me shit,” Cas shot back.

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You raised me from perdition, remember?”

 

“You paid me back for that a long time ago.” Cas leaned forward. “I thought—”

 

“Who the hell knows why you got brought back, Cas?” Dean asked. “We still don’t know why you—why whoever brought Castiel and Bobby back. I think I can find some clothes that will fit you, and you can wash what you’re wearing, get a shower, get some sleep. You hungry?”

 

“Yeah,” Cas replied. “I haven’t eaten since—yesterday? Maybe? I don’t remember.”

 

“I’ll call for takeout, and you get cleaned up,” Dean said. “I’ll find some clean clothing.”

 

“Dean—thank you.”

 

Dean forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

When Cas had disappeared into the bathroom, Dean scrubbed his hands over his face. The knowledge that he was probably going to regret his decision warred with knowing that Cas needed him right now. Dean hadn’t been needed like that in too long, and with Cas around, maybe the apartment wouldn’t feel so empty most of the time.

 

And maybe he wouldn’t regret it, Dean thought. Maybe this would turn out all right; there was a first time for everything.

 

~~~~~

 

Cas couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a shower, and after two days on the road, he definitely needed one. The hot water sluiced off the grime and road dust, and by the time he stepped out, Dean had left a pile of clothes just inside the door.

 

“Just like old times,” Cas muttered, thinking of the week or two when he’d lived out of Dean’s duffel bag, before he got clothes of his own.

 

He’d lost what was left of his grace shortly after Sam had said yes, but his faith in Dean had slipped away a little more slowly. They had both started drinking more, and Cas had done everything he could to dull the sharp press of reality, even as Dean grew harder and began torturing again.

 

And now here he was, in a run-down apartment with secondhand furniture, with a Dean who resembled the man he’d pulled out of hell more than the one who had sent him into a deathtrap.

 

 _This_ Dean had lost Sam and yet hadn’t gone off the deep end. In fact, he seemed saner than ever, and that hurt, too, for reasons Cas didn’t want to look at too closely.

 

Those memories had Cas fumbling for the pack of cigarettes he’d tucked away in the pocket of his dirty jeans. He needed a smoke, and another drink, and maybe something else to calm his nerves.

 

“Called for pizza,” Dean said as soon as Cas emerged, Dean’s eyes going to the cigarette in Cas held. “It should be here soon.”

 

“Do I have time for a smoke?”

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, but outside, okay?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Dean had a small balcony, three stories up, overlooking the parking lot. It wasn’t much of a view, but it was better than the camp.

 

“Need a light?” Dean asked, following him outside, a lighter in his hand.

 

Cas cupped his hands around the unlit end, breathing deeply as it caught. “Thanks,” he mumbled around the cigarette.

 

“Look,” Dean began awkwardly. “I don’t care what you do, just—not around Ben, okay?”

 

Cas took a deep, deliberate drag from the cigarette. “Who’s Ben?”

 

“My son—or near enough. He’s why I’m here, why I’m not hunting.” Dean leaned back against the railing around the balcony. “He’s thirteen—almost fourteen—and I’m trying to set a good example.”

 

Cas snorted. “You?”

 

“Yeah, me. Please, Cas.”

 

The way Dean asked made him soften slightly. Cas had to try to remember that this wasn’t the Dean who tortured demons for kicks, or sacrificed his friends.

 

“Not around your son,” Cas said softly. “I get it.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“How long have you been here?”

 

“Two years.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Sam made me promise to find Lisa—Ben’s mom—when the apocalypse was over, settle down, have a normal life.”

 

“Where is she?”

 

“Lisa?”

 

“Who else?”

 

Dean smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Turns out that living with someone is a lot different than the dream of living with someone.”

 

Cas snorted. “Tell me about it.” He tapped ash over the side of the balcony, feeling a little calmer now.

 

The buzzer rang from inside the apartment, and Dean pushed himself off the wall. “That would be the pizza.”

 

Cas quickly finished his cigarette and followed Dean inside. The smell of bread, melted cheese, and meat had his mouth watering and his stomach growling. He waited for Dean to pick up a piece, and then dove in.

 

“When was the last time you had a real meal?” Dean asked as Cas inhaled half his piece in just a few bites.

 

Cas shrugged. “I’ve been eating out of vending machines the last few days mostly.”

 

“No wonder you’re hungry.”

 

“And I haven’t had pizza in years.” Cas was feeling a little steadier as he ate. Even now, years after becoming fully human, he wasn’t quite used to the demands his body placed on him.

 

Dean watched him carefully. “You want a drink? I’ve got a bottle of Jack.”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

The bottle was three-quarters full, and Dean set a couple of glasses on the table, pouring a healthy portion in each. “Drink up.”

 

Cas threw the drink back, and held his glass out again.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow but refilled it anyway. “Pace yourself, Cas. We’ve got all evening.”

 

Cas just raised his glass. “To lost friends.”

 

Dean’s expression darkened. “To lost friends.”

 

~~~~~

 

Dean nursed his first drink, and stopped after the second. “You’re going to let me drink alone?” Cas asked, his words slurred.

 

“I have to get up and work in the morning,” Dean replied, letting Cas pour another shot for himself.  “You can sleep in.”

 

Cas smirked. “That’s the trouble with being an ex-angel—no past, no future.”

 

“You’ve got a future,” Dean shot back. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

 

Cas shook his head. “And _why_ I’m alive is the great question. There are others—Ellen and Jo Harvelle, for example—who deserved to live more than I did.”

 

Dean winced; he tried not to think about Ellen and Jo, those last moments in the hardware store, or the failure to kill Lucifer. Two more people on a long list of the lost, people who wouldn’t have been dead if not for Dean. “How did they die where—or when—you were?” Dean asked suddenly, needing to know.

 

“How?” Cas stared at him, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “You know how.”

 

“I know how they died here, but maybe it was different,” Dean replied. “I had the Colt—we tried to trap Lucifer as he raised Death. Jo got torn apart by hellhounds; Ellen stayed with her to blow them up. The Colt didn’t work, and they died for nothing.”

 

Cas was shaking his head. “No, that’s—that’s not how it worked. Ellen was killed by Croats, and Jo was infected. You shot her yourself.”

 

Dean rubbed his eyes. He’d letting Ellen and Jo blow themselves up had been terrible, but that was worse. “Well, that’s fucked up.”

 

“You started torturing with a willing spirit after that.”

 

“Yeah, I got that.”

 

They didn’t speak much after that. Dean found a baseball game on the television, and Cas drank steadily until he passed out on the couch. Once Cas was out, Dean turned the TV off, and moved Cas so that he was stretched out a little more comfortably. Dean spread a blanket over Cas, then stood looking down at him for a long moment.

 

In sleep, with the thick stubble and uncombed hair, Cas had an air of vulnerability that his sharp tongue and sarcasm masked when he was awake. Dean couldn’t quite shake the sense of responsibility he felt for Cas.

 

Cas’ words echoed in his mind: “I did it—all of it—for you.”

 

Dean shook his head, turning away and heading to his bed, where he tossed and turned for most of the night. When he did sleep, he dreamed of hell—Sam on the rack, Lucifer torturing Dean while wearing Sam’s face, Sam and Adam locked in a never-ending struggle for dominance.

 

Dean hadn’t dreamed of hell in months, but Cas’ appearance had dredged up all kinds of old memories, and when he dragged himself out of bed, it was with relief that he wouldn’t have to risk the nightmares again.

 

Going to work gave him a respite, too, and he left a scribbled note for Cas on the kitchen table and headed out.

 

Dean was halfway to the shop when his phone rang, and a quick look at the caller ID showed Lisa’s number. “Hey, beautiful.”

 

“Flattery gets you nowhere, you charmer,” Lisa shot back, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “I was just calling to remind you that my parents are taking Ben this weekend.”

 

“I remembered.” Dean had remembered only because it meant that he didn’t have to juggle Cas’ appearance with a weekend spent with Ben. Eventually, they would have to meet, but Dean wanted a little more time to figure out who and what had brought Cas back. He also wanted to be certain that Cas would be okay to be around Ben.

 

Dean didn’t want any part of his old life touching his son. Ben’s life was going to be different.

 

“Do you want to get together this weekend?” she asked. “I’m going out with some friends tomorrow, and you’d be welcome to join us.”

 

Dean hesitated. “Actually, I had a friend come into town yesterday.”

 

There was a pause, and Dean could sense her surprise, both in her silence, and when she said, “A friend? From—”

 

She let the word hang, and Dean sighed as he pulled into the parking lot. “From before,” he confirmed.

 

“Is he—she—staying long?”

 

“I told you that I wouldn’t allow Ben to be touched by this kind of thing,” he said, trying to keep the heat out of his voice. “The same is true now.”

 

“You may not have a choice, Dean. I know that. I’m not making any accusations. I’m just asking.”

 

He heard the reproach in her voice, and he sighed, knowing that he was more sensitive to the possibility that Ben would be hurt by his past than Lisa was.

 

Lisa liked to point out that they hadn’t been targeted by the Changelings because of Dean, but that Dean had _saved_ him because of who he was and what he did for a living. Dean had never been able to bring himself to completely believe her.

 

Too many memories had been dredged up with Cas’ arrival, the old grief over Dean’s losses sharp and stinging. “I’m sorry. We talked last night, about a lot of stuff I hadn’t thought about for a long time. He—Cas and I—we were close, once.”

 

“I understand. Did he know your brother?”

 

“Yeah, he did. He’s had a rough time of it lately.”

 

“And you’re taking care of him,” Lisa said.

 

“I’m giving him a place to stay, that’s all.”

 

“Is there anyone you don’t look after?” It was an old refrain. Lisa would ask if he was taking care of himself, and Dean would claim he was. He knew she cared about him, and he knew she wanted the best for him, but Dean had a hard time letting anyone but Sam watch his back.

 

But since it was an old argument, and he had arrived at the shop, Dean didn’t feel the need to go into it again. “I’ll talk to you later, Lisa.”

 

She sighed and allowed the evasion. “Have a good day, Dean.”

 

“You, too.”

 

Dean settled into work, losing himself in engine parts and oil. By the time he broke off for lunch, he had regained some of his equilibrium.

 

Although Dean could have gone to the library to research Cas’ sudden reappearance, he had no idea where to start. Sam might have known—Dean shoved that thought aside ruthlessly; Sam had been the researcher, not him, but there was no bringing Sam back.

 

That left two people Dean could think of—Bobby and Castiel. Castiel might answer Dean’s call, but Dean had never been the praying kind, and he didn’t want to start now just on principle.

 

Heaven and hell could fuck off as far as Dean was concerned, and that included the archangel Castiel—which left Bobby.

 

“Hey, Dean! You coming to lunch with us?” Tommy called.

 

“Gotta make a phone call,” Dean replied. “Maybe another time.”

 

Tommy waved, and Dean headed around back to get some privacy. Bobby’s number was still in his contacts, and he took a deep breath before dialing.

 

He didn’t talk to Bobby much these days; there were too many memories, too much baggage. Having Cas around, even just for an evening, had reminded Dean of why he tried so hard to forget his past.

 

“Dean! Where you been, boy?”

 

“Working,” Dean replied. “Just like always. I got a question for you, Bobby.”

 

“Of course you do,” Bobby replied. “You owe me a visit, Dean.”

 

Dean sighed. “I know I do. Soon, I promise.”

 

“I’m holding you to it. Now, what can I do for you? I thought you were done hunting.”

 

“I am done,” Dean insisted. “But Cas showed up on my doorstep yesterday.”

 

“The archangel? I thought he was busy cleaning up the ranks of the host.”

 

“Last I heard, he was. It’s a different Cas. He’s human, and he’s from two years in the future.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, realizing that he’d never told Bobby about how Zachariah had sent him into the future, although he had told Sam. “Back when Zachariah was trying to get me to say yes, he sent me to the future for three days. It was 2014, Cas was human, and Sam was Lucifer’s meatsuit. The other me tried to kill Lucifer with the Colt, right after he sent Cas and a few others to their deaths.”

 

“And this is _that_ Cas?”

 

“Yeah. He said he showed up in Omaha a few days ago. He was dying, and then he woke up in a park, in the same spot he’d been in when he first became human. We need to know why.”

 

“I’ll bet you do. You think it’s another apocalypse?”

 

“Let’s hope not. I’m done with that.”

 

Bobby snorted. “Uh huh.”

 

“So, will you help?”

 

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” Bobby promised. “I don’t know where I’m going to find that kind of information, though. You may want to try getting in contact with that angel buddy of yours.”

 

Dean laughed, although it held no humor. “Yeah, maybe. I’d rather avoid it if I can, though.”

 

“I’ll call if I find something.”

 

“Thanks, Bobby.”

 

“Take care of yourself, Dean.”

 

“Yeah, same to you.”

 

Dean hung up, shoved his phone in his pocket, and leaned back against the outside wall of the garage. Bobby was part of the life he’d left behind with Sam’s death, and as much as Dean loved him, it was easier to bury his past.

 

Now, he had Cas sleeping on his couch, and Bobby researching, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if his past was finally catching up to him.

 

~~~~~

 

Cas woke from a nightmare of hands and teeth tearing at his flesh, drenched in a cold sweat. When he sat up, his hands were trembling, and he gripped his knees tightly.

 

He searched for a cigarette, cursing when he realized that he only had one left.

 

Remembering what Dean had said about smoking inside, Cas went out onto the balcony, slowly getting himself under control. By the time he flicked the butt into the parking lot, his breathing, at least, was back to normal.

 

He found Dean’s note on the kitchen table, and raised an eyebrow when he saw Dean’s chicken scratch. “Had to go to work. There’s leftover pizza in the fridge and some other food. Don’t have a spare set of keys to give you yet, but I’ll get one made today. See you tonight.”

 

Cas still felt jittery and on edge, and after only a moment’s hesitation, he went into the bathroom and began rifling through the medicine cabinet. Dean didn’t keep much on hand—off-brand over the counter pain killers, a half-empty bottle of cough syrup, and a prescription bottle of muscle relaxants—only two, though, and Cas suspected that Dean would get pissed off of he used the rest of those.

 

But he remembered the coughing fit brought on by his first cigarette—this body didn’t have the tolerance he’d built up over two years of using. He’d take a dose or two, enough to soften the blunt edges, and he’d sleep the day away.

 

Cas washed the cough syrup down with a piece of pizza and then found the remote control, flipping through the channels slowly, waiting for the medicine to kick in.

 

Cas wanted the soporific effect, and he wanted to distance himself from being human. Maybe the world wasn’t ending, but Cas was still human, and still bitter at whoever or whatever had brought him back.

 

As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed. He didn’t want any part of this life, and with the apocalypse over that just meant he was more useless than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean had kept his promise to Sam because he hadn’t the heart to hunt anymore. He’d lost everything when Sam had jumped into the pit, and anything that reminded him of his old life felt like a knife in his chest.

 

Even the Impala held too many memories, but while sitting behind the wheel hurt like a motherfucker _every single time_ , Dean figured it was penance. After all, Sam was facing worse in hell.

 

Being with Lisa and Ben had been easier for the most part. Dean had his memories of that one weekend with Lisa, and memories of saving them with Sam, but for the most part, he worked from a clean slate with them.

 

And yet, Dean had never quite been able to shake the fear that he was going to lose this, too—that he’d fuck up all over again and lose Ben and Lisa, and everything he’d worked so hard to build.

 

After two days of Cas staying with him, Dean headed towards Lisa’s house instead of going right home after work. He pulled into the driveway and parked, thinking, “Just like old times,” with only a hint of bitterness.

 

He should have gone straight home because Dean suspected that while Cas might be a soldier, he’d never lived as a bachelor. If Dean didn’t bring food, or if there weren’t leftovers in the fridge, there was a good chance that Cas just wouldn’t eat.

 

In fact, Dean suspected that Cas would live on alcohol, cigarettes and coffee, with the occasional burger or slice of pizza to take the edge of hunger off. It gave him new respect for Lisa, who had shepherded him towards a normal life, with only the occasional ass kicking.

 

Dean wanted to do the same thing for Cas, but he wasn’t sure he had it in him.

 

After a moment’s consideration, Dean climbed out and rang the doorbell. He knew Lisa wouldn’t mind if he just walked in, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so at this point.

 

Lisa wore a puzzled frown when she opened the door. “I thought you had a friend in town. Did he leave already?”

 

“No, I just—” Dean stopped. “I, uh, I thought I’d come by to see if you needed anything.”

 

Her eyebrows went up. “Come on in. Do you want something to drink? Maybe a beer?”

 

“Yeah, that would be great,” Dean agreed. “Thanks.”

 

“Any time. You know that.” She led him into the kitchen, and it all felt so fucking familiar, it made Dean’s chest hurt. “What happened with your friend?”

 

“He’s sleeping, mostly,” Dean replied. He didn’t think he needed to tell Lisa that Cas had been awake for about six of the last 72 hours. “He’s had a rough time.”

 

“So you said.” Lisa sat down at the table in the seat across from him. “Did you start smoking?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Cigarette smoke, Dean.”

 

Dean pulled his shirt up to sniff at it, making a face when he caught the whiff of cigarettes. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry, Lisa. I told him to take it outside, but I guess—”

 

She covered his hand with her own to stop him. “Stop. My mom smokes, my sister smokes—Ben has been exposed to it before. I’m not faulting you.”

 

Dean shook his head, unable to explain his anxiety. He had no legal relationship to Ben; Dean had long ago accepted that he wasn’t Ben’s biological father. But Ben—and Lisa, to a certain extent—was still one of his ties to humanity. Spending time with Ben reminded Dean on a weekly basis that what he’d given up— _everything_ he’d given up—was worth it.

 

And whether Lisa would do it or not—and Dean knew she wouldn’t—if she decided that he wasn’t good for Ben, she could cut ties and move on, and Dean would be left with nothing.

 

Cas’ sleeping on his couch threatened everything Dean had built, in a way. Every bad memory Dean had pushed aside, the promise he’d made to Sam about trying to have a normal life, was now threatened with Cas’ presence.

 

“You’re a part of Ben’s life,” Lisa said quietly when Dean didn’t respond. “You’re the closest thing to a father that he’s ever going to have.”

 

“I know.” Dean swallowed hard. “Did I ever tell you that Sam made me promise to find you and Ben after it was all over?”

 

Lisa shook her head, kindly not commenting on the fact that Dean didn’t talk about Sam. “No, you didn’t.”

 

“I told him I’d try to have that picket fence, apple pie life we thought—” Dean stopped, took a breath. “When we first started hunting together, Sam and me, he was the one who wanted a normal life. By the end, though, Sam couldn’t imagine doing anything else, you know?”

 

“It’s hard to imagine any other life but the one you have,” Lisa replied gently. “I can’t imagine not having Ben.”

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, that’s it exactly. So, I promised.”

 

He left unsaid the fact that he’d screwed it up, but Lisa seemed to pick up on it anyway. “You kept your promise, Dean. We didn’t work out, but that wasn’t because of you.”

 

He met her eyes. “It was partly me.”

 

“It was both of us,” she corrected him. “Trust me on this one. Just because we work better as friends, doesn’t mean you fucked up.”

 

Lisa didn’t often swear; she’d cleaned up her language in front of Ben, from what she’d said, and her swearing now made him laugh. “Yeah.”

 

“You hearing me?”

 

“Yeah,” he repeated. “I hear you. Thanks.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I still owe you.”

 

“You don’t owe me anything,” Dean replied. And maybe that was another reason why they hadn’t worked out—he’d always wondered how much of her acceptance of his return was gratitude, and how much was full-out acceptance.

 

She smiled. “That’s what you keep saying, but you gave me my son back, Dean. I can’t help it.”

 

“What do you have going on tonight?” Dean asked, because he still didn’t have any desire to go home and face Cas and the memories he brought along with him.

 

“Not a thing, for a change,” Lisa replied. “Ben’s staying with a friend tonight. Want to watch a movie with me?”

 

Dean grinned, at least partially in relief. “Yeah. That would be great.”

 

~~~~~

 

In the camp, Cas had pretty much come and gone as he pleased. That Dean—the Dean of 2014—had ignored him unless he’d needed something. Cas had gone on raids and popped pills and organized orgies, pretty much in that order, while Dean had tortured and killed.

 

Dean had been everything to him, and then Dean had become their fearless leader, the one who dispensed orders and nothing more.

 

Now, Dean basically let Cas sleep, waking him up in the morning to eat something, and then again in the evening to eat a little more. He was careful, solicitous, and Cas had no _fucking_ clue what to do with that.

 

On the fourth day, Cas took the set of keys Dean left for him and went for a walk, because he found he couldn’t sleep anymore, and he didn’t know what else to do.

 

Cicero was a smallish sort of town, but it seemed to be thriving. Cas didn’t see as many “For Lease” or “For Sale” signs as he had in other towns that had been hard-hit by the apocalypse, or the recession, or whatever the hell was going on that caused ordinary citizens to board up their houses and businesses and get the fuck out of Dodge.

 

He had enough money in his pocket for another pack of cigarettes and a cup of coffee, and he stopped first at a gas station, then at a little corner café. Cas thought it tasted like heaven, and he sat outside, sipping his coffee and smoking a cigarette.

 

Cas was trying to make the rest of the pack last as long as possible, because while there were ways of getting ready cash, he didn’t know that he was quite ready to do much more than sleep and eat and dream away the days.

 

When he started walking again, he caught sight of a few “Help Wanted” signs, and resolutely ignored them. Even the idea of working—of doing anything other than getting wasted and shooting Croats—had panic clawing at his chest.

 

From the moment of his creation, Cas had fought evil. He’d done the will of his Father, and then he’d done the will of Dean, and fuck if he was going to take another master. Cas didn’t know if he’d ever be ready to follow the will of another.

 

Cas had finished his coffee and two cigarettes by the time he turned back towards Dean’s apartment building, and he had to admit that he didn’t have any clearer picture of what lay before him than he had before. In the end, everything depended on Dean, and Dean’s reaction, just as it always had. In the end, Cas felt alone—just as he’d been for far too long.

 

No one had warned him about this part of being human—being utterly, utterly alone, without the voices of the host, without the assurance of faith in the will of God, without even the certainty that revelation brought.

 

There was no one and nothing that could dim that knowledge. Nothing that might ease his loneliness.

 

Not even Dean.

 

~~~~~

 

On the fifth day, Dean realized that he was counting the days that Cas had been staying with him. Each day, as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, Dean thought of it as day-whatever in the Cas-watch. He wondered if this would be the day that Cas pried himself off of the couch and assumed some semblance of a normal life.

 

And every day, Dean wondered why the fuck he’d even thought that Cas knew what a normal life looked like.

 

Dean wondered what the fuck he was doing, taking in an ex-angel anyway. _Dean_ was trying to keep his promise to Sam; Cas seemed to have no idea what was coming next.

 

Any way he looked at it, Dean owed Cas, and so he did what he could. On this day, the fifth day, Dean brought home a couple of burgers and nudged Cas so persistently he had no choice but to get up.

 

“You have to be hungry,” Dean said when Cas grumbled and pulled a pillow over his head. It was Dean’s second-best pillow, the one he normally would have wrapped himself around if he’d still been sleeping in motel beds. “I bought burgers.”

 

Cas grunted, and the pillow stayed where it was. “Go away.”

 

“Not until you eat,” Dean replied, remembering what Lisa had done for him when he’d said nearly the same thing. He’d ordered her to leave, and she hadn’t listened, instead nudging him awake in her spare bed, insisting that Dean eat dinner with them and shower and change clothes.

 

Later, she’d made him do everybody’s laundry, and she’d cajoled him into cooking with her, and then going grocery shopping with her. Slowly, but surely, Lisa had taught him how to look for sales, and what fresh produce looked like—even if Dean didn’t plan on utilizing that knowledge—and how to choose packages of meat that would give the most bang for the buck.

 

Months later, Dean had realized that he was actually living that picket-fence life Sam had asked him to try, without ever realizing that’s what he was going for. Lisa had moved him along that road until he was so far down it that diner meals and motel rooms seemed like a world away.

 

Cas brought it all back in a way that Dean didn’t want to acknowledge.

 

He set out the two cheeseburgers on the table, the double-order of fries in the middle next to the bottle of ketchup. “Ice water is next,” Dean warned from tiny, second-hand table. “Come on, Cas.”

 

Cas joined him reluctantly, his expression sullen as he picked up the cheeseburger. Dean held his tongue until Cas bit into it and moaned in ecstasy. “Oh, God.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Dean replied smugly, fully aware that Harry’s cheeseburgers were a little slice of heaven. “I’d say I told you so, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

 

Cas practically inhaled the burger, and just slightly more than half the fries. Dean had to speed up his own pace in order to make certain that Cas didn’t chow down more than his share. “That’s what you get for not eating all day,” he said. “You’re too hungry to really enjoy dinner.”

 

“Who said I didn’t enjoy it?” Cas shot back, stealing another fry from the pile Dean had clearly marked as his own. “It was great.”

 

“You hoovered it,” Dean felt inclined to point out. Lisa said practically the same thing to Ben every time they had a meal together.

 

“Don’t eat so fast, or you’ll choke,” was the warning, and he felt inclined to pass it along to Cas now.

 

Cas snorted. “You learn to eat fast, or you learn to do without.”

 

“That’s not the way it is now.” The words left Dean’s mouth before he could think better of them. He knew from experience that there were some things a person had to experience firsthand in order to really accept it.

 

Cas paused with a fry, loaded with ketchup, halfway to his mouth. “I know that,” he said after a moment, “if only because there’s no shortage of toilet paper.”

 

Dean grinned. “Yeah. I guess so.”

 

“Where _is_ Chuck?” Cas asked, and Dean realized that until that moment, he’d never asked himself the same question. He’d never asked because he didn’t want to know. When he’d left hunting behind, he’d avoided any reminders of that old life, and that included news about old friends and allies.

 

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, because lying would be too hard. He’d have to make up some story about Chuck, and how he was happy—maybe with Becky—when the truth was that he didn’t know. Dean _didn’t know_ , and maybe he didn’t care.

 

No, that wasn’t true. Dean did care, maybe too much, but it was easier not to know.

 

Cas nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

 

Dean felt the need to justify his decision to Cas, although there was no real reason to. “When I came back to Cicero, it was easier if I forgot about the rest of it.”

 

“I understand, Dean.” And now, Cas’ eyes seemed to focus on him with that same ancient wisdom he’d shown back when he’d been an angel. For the first time, Dean could see the man—no, not a man, an angel—who had shown up in the barn. He’d thrown everything he had at Cas, and it still hadn’t been enough to stop him.

 

Sometimes, Dean forgot what Cas had been at the beginning, especially now that he was human.

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean looked away, feeling like an idiot for no reason at all.

 

“We all use different things to forget, Dean,” Cas observed. And for the moment, Dean could forget that this was drug-addled Cas he was talking to, and remember Castiel, angel of the Lord, who always seemed to have an answer.

 

Dean nodded. “I guess so. Too bad you can’t forget forever, huh?”

 

~~~~~

 

The problem with a non-post-apocalyptic world, in Cas’ opinion, was that there were all sorts of rules in place to prevent him from getting his hands on the decent drugs. The cheapest, easiest high would be cold meds, but there were restrictions on those.

 

The restrictions were a pain in his ass, was what they were.

 

Signing for the cold meds with the pharmacist put a crimp in Cas’ plans, so he lifted a package of Coricidin. Take enough of them, and a person _could_ get high, although he knew he stood a chance of taking a really bad trip. Cas had become an expert at making do, however, and he had an idea of how much he could take before he became a danger to himself or others.

 

And that was the key, he’d realized over the years. Take just enough to dull the pain, and not enough to get someone killed, which would only add to his burden.

 

Cas knew Dean well enough to know when the other man was just treading water. Dean wasn’t unhappy, he wasn’t suffering, and he certainly wasn’t torturing demons or killing Croats—but this was Dean. And Cas didn’t think that Dean could be happy without Sam.

 

Lying down on the couch, Cas turned on the TV and flipped through channels listlessly. He stopped on some sort of science fiction movie about giant bugs.

 

He fell asleep about halfway through, waking up only when Dean shook him. “Dean?”

 

“Yeah. You been sleeping all day?”

 

“I went for a walk earlier,” Cas admitted.

 

“It’s a nice day,” Dean replied noncommittally.

 

Cas put an arm over his eyes. “Hot, though.”

 

“It’s summer, so yeah.”

 

Cas couldn’t remember having a more inane conversation with Dean. “Are we going to talk about the weather?”

 

“If that’s what there is to talk about,” Dean replied. “I grabbed some sandwiches if you’re hungry.”

 

Cas wasn’t hungry, but he knew that Dean wasn’t going to let him get away with not eating. He pushed himself off the couch, stumbling a little from lightheadedness. When he glanced up, Cas saw Dean watching him with concern clear in his eyes.

 

“Did you eat today?” Dean asked.

 

Cas shrugged. “I ate breakfast.”

 

“Right.” Dean started unpacking the food as Cas sat at the table. “Good thing I brought home dinner, then.”

 

Cas started in on his sandwich, watching Dean as he grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, setting one down in front of Cas.

 

They ate and drank in awkward silence. “What is it you _do_ here, Dean?”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“You’re not hunting,” Cas pointed out. “You’re—what—fixing cars?”

 

Dean frowned. “Yeah, I fix cars. My dad fixed cars. There’s nothing wrong with being a mechanic.”

 

“Didn’t say there was.” Cas gave him a long look. “But you’re a hunter. You—”

 

“I tortured demons, and I shot people in cold blood,” Dean replied, his voice cold. “Is that what you were going to say?”

 

Cas wanted to tell Dean that he’d done what was necessary to survive, but he couldn’t force the words out. Instead, he opted for a different kind of truth. “You’re not the same man.”

 

“No, I’m not,” Dean replied quietly. “But a lot of that is because of Ben and Lisa. I don’t hunt anymore because that’s not who I am.”

 

Cas didn’t know that he bought it, but he was willing to wait and see.

 

~~~~~

 

Dean had stopped after two drinks for so long, he’d forgotten how fucking good that third drink tasted going down.

 

During the first couple of weeks at Lisa’s, Dean had noticed that Lisa’s expression sharpened with concern when he poured the third drink. The concern grew more concentrated when Dean grabbed the fourth. By the time the third week had passed, Dean had noticed that Ben wore the same expression.

 

After the first month had passed, Dean had trained himself to stop at two drinks because if nothing else, he never wanted to put Ben in the same position he’d been in while looking after _his_ dad.

 

John Winchester could be a mean drunk, and even though Dean thought his dad was probably the better man in a lot of ways, Dean had sworn that Ben would never have to clean up after him. Ben would never have to help Dean to his bed, and he’d never have to throw away the empties or make excuses or explanations.

 

This much Dean would do right.

 

It had been nearly two years since Dean had drunk more than a couple of beers, or a couple of fingers of whiskey. Cas being here, and being like he was, made Dean remember the man he’d been two or three years ago.

 

So, when Cas poured Dean a third drink, Dean took it, because he couldn’t think of a reason to refuse.

 

“I have to go to work tomorrow,” he said, even as he sipped from the glass of Johnnie Walker.

 

Cas grinned at him, a patently false grin with the brittleness of a thousand broken promises. “So, play hooky.”

 

“Some of us have to pay the rent,” Dean replied, but he didn’t put the drink down.

 

And that third drink felt so fucking good on the way down, Dean wondered why he’d ever stopped at two.

 

“What is it about this place? This life?”

 

Dean eyed him. “Didn’t we have this conversation already?”

 

“I might have forgotten what you said,” Cas admitted.

 

Dean shrugged and studied the amber liquid in his glass. “I promised Sam. That’s all that matters.”

 

“There has to be more to it than that,” Cas replied, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You stayed, Dean. I never thought of you as the staying kind.”

 

“Sometimes you have to make a change,” Dean replied.  He tossed back the rest of his drink and gave serious consideration to not giving out any additional information. Dean probably would have kept his mouth shut if he hadn’t been a little buzzed.

 

“You want to give me the truth?”

 

Dean smiled and shook his head. “I promised Sam.”

 

“And?”

 

“And Ben’s not my son.” The words tumbled out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop them. “The timing was right, and he could be—could have been—my kid, but he’s not. I have no legal tie to him. If Lisa decides to cut off contact, that’s it, man. We’re done.”

 

“Would she do that?”

 

“No.” Dean didn’t even have to think about it. “No, she wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck it up and lose everything again.”

 

Cas stared into his drink. “But if it’s not going to happen—”

 

“Doesn’t mean it won’t.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “Never thought I’d let Sam go down to the pit and not try to get him back, but I promised.”

 

“We all break promises,” Cas said.

 

“Not this one.” Dean set the glass down with a little more force than absolutely necessary. “This is one I’m going to keep.”


	3. Chapter 3

When the alarm blared the next morning, Dean rolled over to smack it into silence, and his stomach lurched once before it settled. The headache lurked behind his eyes, but he’d had worse hangovers in the past, and he’d make it through work.

 

Dean had planned to have Ben with him for the weekend, and he needed to have a word with Cas before he left for work. Cas was curled up under a blanket on the couch, his head buried in Dean’s spare pillow. “Cas?”

 

Cas didn’t so much as twitch, and Dean reached out to grasp Cas’ shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Come on, Cas,” Dean coaxed. “I need to talk to you.”

 

Cas mumbled something into his pillow and rolled over so his back was to Dean.

 

Dean sighed. He understood Cas’ need for sleep; _he’d_ slept for about a week straight when he first arrived at Lisa’s. She’d left him alone for the most part, although she had prodded him into having dinner every night and spending time with Ben. She’d done his laundry and held him during his nightmares and generally been a friend.

 

And maybe that’s what had changed their relationship. Dean hadn’t been able to confide in her—hadn’t been able to confide in _anyone_ —and he’d needed her so badly. Lisa had been his teacher, his coach, and his friend. Somehow, her role as a lover got shunted off to the side, and by the time they’d tried to pick it back up again, it had been too late.

 

Dean suspected that Cas had been doing more than just drinking, though. Cas slept too much, and moved sluggishly when he was awake. And Dean was beginning to suspect that Cas might continue to do just this—sleep and drink and eat only when Dean brought him food. Cas needed a nudge. The same kind of nudge Lisa had given Dean when she’d informed him that her cousin owned a garage and needed another mechanic.

 

He would start a little slower, but that was only fair; Cas hadn’t been human for all that long.

 

Cas muttered again and pulled his pillow over his head as Dean shook him a little harder. “Come on, Cas. I need to talk to you before I leave for work.”

 

“Go away.”

 

“I’ll go away as soon as you talk to me.”

 

Cas uncurled and rolled over enough to look at Dean through one cracked eyelid. “So, talk.”

 

“Ben’s coming over for dinner tonight.”

 

Cas glared at him. “So?”

 

“So, you don’t have to be here, but I’d like it if you were.”

 

Cas stretched out a bit, and then pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Why?”

 

“Because he’s my son, and you’re my friend,” Dean replied. In truth, Ben and Lisa had been his lifeline, and Dean hoped that Cas would recognize Ben as one of those reasons they’d fought so hard to stop the apocalypse. Dean wanted him to try to _live_. “I just want you to meet him.”

 

Cas’ inscrutable expression gave Dean no indication as to what he was thinking. “You want your son to meet me?”

 

“Yeah.” Dean hesitated. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve been using, but you’re on something. Don’t, okay? Not today.”

 

Cas looked at him for a long moment before shrugging. “Cold medicine. It’s cheap, and it’s easy to lift.”

 

Dean didn’t quite know how to respond. If it hadn’t been for Lisa and Ben, he knew that he’d be drinking too much, and probably would have taken on hunts guaranteed to get him killed. There were still nights when only his promise to Sam and his commitment to Ben kept him from packing everything up and diving right back into the life of a hunter and a certain, early death.

 

Cas didn’t have the same ties, though, and Dean wasn’t sure how he could compete with the loss of heaven. The only thing he could do was give Cas a place to stay, and hope

 

“Just—be sober tonight, okay?”

 

“Because you don’t want Ben to have a negative influence?” Cas asked with an arch look.

 

Dean held onto his temper by a thread, trying to remember what Cas had gone through, and not how much he disliked this bitter, hardened version of Cas. “Yeah, if that’s how you want to look at it. Let me know now if you can’t do it, and I’ll figure something else out.”

 

“No, I can do it.” Cas’ smile was forced, but Dean decided to take him at his word. “If you want it so much.”

 

“I do.” Dean squeezed his shoulder. “Hang in there, okay? It gets easier.”

 

He said it even knowing that it was at least partially a lie. Time didn’t heal all wounds, and it didn’t soften regrets. But sometimes, Dean could forget his grief for a little while.

 

Cas shook his head, his expression clearly communicating his disbelief. “Yeah. Sure it does.”

 

Dean didn’t see the point in arguing the point, not when neither of them believed it. “I’ll see you when I get home tonight, okay?”

 

“See you then.”

 

Dean knew that Cas was going to go right back to sleep, and Dean didn’t mind if all Cas did was sack out on the couch or stare blindly at the television. He didn’t care if Cas kept odd hours or drank himself into a stupor most nights, or even that he was getting high. Dean _did_ care about the impression Cas might leave on Ben, though, and he didn’t want his past touching his son.

 

Dean would do whatever it took to protect Ben from that.

 

~~~~~

 

Cas tried to sleep most of the day away. If he had to be sober, he’d prefer to be unconscious, although the nightmares were often worse when he wasn’t drugged into oblivion. When he couldn’t sleep, Cas rolled off the ancient, overstuffed couch and stumbled to the bathroom. He felt lightheaded and knew that was probably hunger; his growling stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten all day.

 

He missed the amphetamines, which tended to dull his appetite. Killing the hunger was another way of forgetting that he was human now.

 

He showered and shaved mechanically, and tried not to think. Cas rubbed his now-smooth chin, and then ran a hand through his hair. It was longer than he’d like, but there was nothing Cas could do about it now. He’d have to ask Dean what barber he used.

 

Risa had cut hair back in the camp, not because she had training, or because she wanted to, but because she’d somehow gotten stuck with the task. From what Cas understood, it had mostly been because she had clippers and no one else did.

 

Cas leaned over the sink, rinsing off the remaining flecks of shaving cream and trying _not_ to think about the camp again, about Dean and who he’d been.

 

 _That_ Dean would have kicked him off his couch after a couple of days. _This_ Dean hadn’t pushed at all, other than to make sure he ate.

 

He needed to clear his head somehow, and that most certainly did not include being sober or celibate. Cas needed something more than cold medicine, but he had to get through the weekend first.

 

There was some small, petty part of him that wanted to ignore Dean’s request, to either ignore Ben entirely or even to shove who and what he was into Ben’s face, so that Dean would have no choice but to _see_ what he’d become.

 

But Dean had asked him to meet his son, and to be sober, and the truth was that Cas hadn’t yet found a way to refuse a request from Dean.

 

Cas flipped channels, pausing to watch snatches of daytime talk shows and soap operas. The banality of humans never ceased to amaze him; there were times when he wondered if Uriel hadn’t been right, if the world wouldn’t be better off cleansed of humankind.

 

Even if that currently included him.

 

When Dean walked through the front door with a boy on his heels, Cas was watching the evening news.

 

“Why the hell are you watching that?” Dean asked. “It’s all bad.”

 

Cas turned the TV off. “The news could be worse,” he felt compelled to point out. “At least the president isn’t nuking cities.”

 

Dean winced, uncomfortable, as always, by any mention of the apocalypse he’d managed to avert. “Yeah. Anyway, Cas, this is my son, Ben. Ben, this is my buddy, Cas.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Ben said with a smile and an outstretched hand.

 

Cas managed to shake Ben’s hand and summon up a smile. “Dean’s talked about you a lot.”

 

Ben grinned. “Yeah, Dean does go on, doesn’t he?”

 

“Shut your mouth, kid,” Dean ordered, although there was a twinkle in his eye. “I’m the one cooking, remember?”

 

“You wouldn’t poison me,” Ben replied cheekily. “Mom would kill you.”

 

Dean snorted. “We both know who rules the roost. Come on. I promised your mom that we would actually eat something green tonight, so you’re in charge of the vegetable.”

 

Ben made a face. “I don’t have to tell her that we didn’t.”

 

“There are cans of green beans in the cupboard.” Dean nudged Ben in that direction. “Go on.”

 

Cas watched their interactions, the way Dean seemed more relaxed, happier, than Cas had seen him in the past. He and Ben joked and shoved each other, trash talking with a youthful exuberance Cas hadn’t known Dean possessed.

 

Or—he had. Cas had simply forgotten Dean was anything other than the battle-hardened leader of a group of survivalists. Seeing Dean like this now caused something to stir in Cas’ chest, the old faith he’d had in Dean, and the old attraction.

 

And Cas didn’t want that faith. He couldn’t bring himself to _need_ Dean again.

 

So, he clamped down on the emotion, reminded himself that Dean was straight and uninterested, and promised himself that he’d see about burying those emotions again just as soon as he could get his hands on something a little stronger than alcohol.

 

~~~~~

 

Dean had been relieved to find Cas up, dressed, and alert, which made a nice change from the last week. He was a little surprised that Cas even made an effort with Ben. Dean tried to take some of the onus off of him by joking with Ben while they got dinner ready, but at least Cas appeared alert and interested in dinner.

 

He could sense Cas watching him, and Dean caught Cas staring at him out of the corner of his eye more than once, but when Dean tried to meet Cas’ eyes, he would turn away.

 

Not for the first time, Dean wondered what Cas’ relationship had been with his future self. Had it just been friendly, or had there been something more there? Dean knew that Cas had lost faith—in himself, in that other Dean, in God—and yet Cas had continued to follow orders.

 

Cas had given his allegiance to a now-obsolete cause, and he was drifting. Dean could relate, but he’d had Ben to keep him anchored; Cas had nothing.

 

But Dean couldn’t think about that now. Right now, he had an evening with his kid to focus on.

 

“You gonna play with us tonight, Cas?” Ben asked over dinner.

 

Ben’s question seemed to take Cas off guard, and he frowned. “Play what?”

 

“Video games,” Ben replied, as though Cas was being an idiot. “Dean just got a new game. It’s awesome. It’s a first-person-shooter, but more than one person can play.”

 

The puzzled expression didn’t clear up. “I’ve never played video games.”

 

Ben’s eyes widened. “Where have you been living? Under a rock?”

 

Dean grinned. “You could say that. Cas’ dad was pretty strict while he was growing up.”

 

Cas shot him a look that Dean couldn’t quite interpret, but Cas seemed to be fully engaged for the first time since showing up on Dean’s doorstep. “I didn’t have a lot of time for games,” Cas finally hedged. “I studied a lot.”

 

“So, your dad was like Dean’s?” Ben asked. “I mean, you were a hunter, too, right?”

 

“Ben—” Dean began, the warning in his voice clear. “You know the rules.”

 

Ben rolled his eyes. “I know what you did, Dean. You hunted monsters.”

 

“Your mom and I have an agreement,” Dean said. “And that means some topics are off limits. Got it?”

 

Ben scowled. If Dean allowed himself to think about it, Ben reminded Dean a hell of a lot of Sammy at the same age. He was beginning to push his limits and sulk when he didn’t get his way. With any luck, he’d grow out of that phase sooner than Sam had.

 

Cas glanced over at Dean, and then said carefully, “Your dad and I are both retired now, and those are times we don’t like to talk about.”

 

“Why?” Ben asked bluntly. “If you guys hunted monsters, that means you were heroes, right? Dean saved me and mom when I was a kid, but he never talks about it.”

 

When Cas looked at him again, Dean shrugged. He figured Cas was on his own for this one. He may have promised Lisa that he wouldn’t do more than teach Ben how to defend himself, and that he wouldn’t talk about hunting more than absolutely necessary, but Cas hadn’t. Lisa had reasoned that too many stories of hunting might encourage Ben to do something stupid.

 

Since Dean hadn’t much wanted to discuss anything having to do with his past and Sam, he’d backed her up.

 

“Dean lost his brother,” Cas finally said. “And I lost everything I ever held dear. Sometimes, that hurts too much to speak of.”

 

Ben looked stung, and maybe a little sorry, although Dean suspected that had a lot to do with the hint of power in Cas’ voice. Most of the time, Cas acted like a regular guy—if regular guys were quasi-hippie stoners.

 

Then there were moments like these, and Dean caught the echo of power, of what Cas used to be.

 

“Sorry,” Ben said, his voice faint.

 

Cas forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I understand why you’d be curious.”

 

Dean decided it was time to change the subject. “So, you going to play video games with us tonight, Cas?”

 

Cas shrugged, but Dean caught a hint of wistfulness on his face, before it was shuttered away behind his usual nonchalant expression. “Why not? I don’t have anything better to do.”

 

Dean sent Ben to start cleanup in the kitchen, and grabbed Cas’ shoulder. “Sorry about that,” he said in a low voice. “Ben knows better, but he’s been pushing it lately.”

 

Cas shook his head. “It’s fine, Dean. I’m fine.”

 

“Are you?” Dean pressed.

 

Cas froze, his expression wistful and more open than Dean had seen it since Cas had shown up on his doorstep. “Dean, I—” His mouth closed with a snap. “I’m fine.”

 

Dean let his hand fall away as Cas shrugged him off, going to take a seat in Dean’s ancient orange La-Z-Boy. Dean suspected that it was Cas’ way of putting some distance between them, sitting on the one chair in the room instead of the couch, where he normally stretched out as though he owned the place.

 

With Ben there, Dean couldn’t push, and he returned to the kitchen to help Ben with cleanup. Although he thought about telling Cas to get off his ass to help, he resisted. The kitchen wasn’t big enough for three people to be in it at once, and he’d give Cas a little more time to adjust.

 

But just a little more time.

 

~~~~~

 

Cas enjoyed spending time with Ben and Dean far more than he’d wanted to, but at the same time, everything felt too sharp, too real. Nothing stood between him and the rest of the world, and he’d become used to self-medication.

 

Being human fucking _hurt_ , and Cas was tired of hurting.

 

He couldn’t even slip away the next day. Ben had stayed the night, and as it was Saturday, Dean didn’t have to work. Cas knew Dean wouldn’t put up with him leaving and coming back completely wasted, which was what Cas wanted to do.

 

By the time Dean took Ben home Sunday afternoon, Cas hadn’t had anything stronger than a beer in nearly forty-eight hours, and he was jittery with the need for something to smooth the rough edges.

 

Cas was pacing the length of the apartment when Dean returned. “I need to get out,” he said. “I can’t sit around here any longer, and I need cash, Dean. I need—”

 

Dean’s expression was all too knowing, but he didn’t argue. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”

 

“Where are we going?” Cas asked as he followed Dean down the stairs, towards the Impala.

 

“For a drive.”

 

“Where?” Cas demanded.

 

“Not here,” Dean shot back. “Just—get in, okay?”

 

Cas thought about blowing Dean off for a moment, but the chance to spend time with this Dean—the one he’d believed in—proved too much for him to resist. Besides, Cas hadn’t been any farther than the corner store in a week, and he wanted out.

 

“Look, I have to live in this town, you know?” Dean said as he pulled out of the apartment complex’s parking lot. “So if I’m feeling rowdy, or I want to get some fast cash, I go out of town, preferably where I know I won’t be recognized.”

 

“Wait, what are we doing?” Cas asked, having trouble keeping up.

 

Dean glanced over at him quickly, then back out at the road. “You said you wanted to get out, right?”

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

“So, we’re going out. We’re going to drink, and we’ll hustle some pool, or darts—you know how to play, don’t you?”

 

“Both rather well,” Cas replied slowly. “You taught me.”

 

“Didn’t get a chance to this time around,” Dean replied. “And I don’t want to know what you do with your money, because it’s none of my business. Just, whatever you do, don’t bring it back to the apartment, okay? Especially not when Ben or Lisa are around.”

 

Cas hesitated, then nodded. “I promise.”

 

“As long as you do,” Dean said.

 

Dean drove south to Noblesville, to a bar on the western edge of town. “There’s enough of a mix of locals and out-of-towners that we won’t have to worry about pissing people off too much. If anybody asks, you work at SMC.”

 

“SMC?”

 

“It manufactures automobile parts,” Dean replied. “That okay?”

 

“Why not? What else could I claim as my occupation?” Cas asked with a bitter smile.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You could always tell folks you’re a zombie hunter.” When Cas snorted, Dean added, “Or tell them you’re in the ministry.”

 

“For that, I would have to believe in God, wouldn’t I?”

 

“Don’t you?” Dean asked as he parked the car in the lot.

 

Cas shook his head, although not because he didn’t believe. “I don’t know. I don’t have a choice, do I? I owe my existence to someone, to something, bigger and more powerful than even an angel. But God—he left us; he allowed all of _this_ to happen.”

 

“Maybe you don’t remember it, maybe it never happened for you, but I told you once that I know a little bit about absentee, asshole fathers.” Dean’s hand clasped his shoulder, then slid up to the back of his neck, warm and somehow reassuring. “It gets easier.”

 

Cas felt a stirring of desire at the touch, and he wished for something he could never have. “Does it, really?”

 

Dean released him. “Yeah, it does. I promise.” He smiled. “Come on, Cas. Let’s go fill our pockets.”

 

~~~~~

 

Dean hadn’t done much carousing since the end of the apocalypse. He’d been out with Lisa a couple of times for a beer, but he hadn’t hustled for cash, and when he’d gotten drunk, it had usually been at home, alone. The notable exceptions were the two anniversaries of the apocalypse he’d passed, when he hadn’t wanted to stay home.

 

Cas bellied up to the bar next to him, his pallor and the dark circles around his eyes giving him the air of someone interested only in drinking his troubles away.

 

“Two Buds and a couple of bourbons for my friend and me,” Dean ordered.

 

“How do you want to do this?” Cas asked quietly.

 

Dean shrugged. “Let’s just see how it plays out, huh?”

 

Cas stayed quiet, until the bartender brought their drinks. He raised his shot glass and gave Dean a nod. “I’ll follow your lead.”

 

Dean watched Cas toss back the bourbon like a pro before beginning to sip his beer. Dean did the same, then turned to the pool tables in the corner. “We’ll wait for a break in the action.”

 

Cas had finished his beer by the time one of the tables was deserted, and Dean ordered another for him as they took their places. “Follow my lead,” he murmured, and Cas gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean said a little more loudly. “What you need is an evening out and a game of pool. I’ll even let you beat me once.”

 

Cas made a face. “You know as well as I do that all of my money’s going to my ex.”

 

When Dean glanced over at him, Cas wore a weary, bitter expression not out of keeping with the role he’d elected to play. “So, I’ll spot you a twenty,” Dean replied. “Before you get too drunk to sink a shot.”

 

“Watch me,” Cas challenged.

 

And just like that, it was almost like being back with Sammy. Cas moved around him with the ease that only comes from practice and knowledge, and they trash talked each other with impunity.

 

“You suck, Cas,” Dean said after Cas missed a shot.

 

Cas grinned at him. “You should know. You were the one who taught me how to play.”

 

Dean didn’t remember that—he wouldn’t. It must have been after—what? He hadn’t pushed Cas for details; he had no idea what decision he’d made to avert the end of the world. Had it been soon after his little detour to the future? Had Sam said yes at the same time? Was it Sam who had changed the future?

 

Now wasn’t the time to ask, and so Dean just took his shot, sinking the number 6 ball. He deliberately missed the next one, allowing Cas to take his turn. “In this case, the student hasn’t beaten his teacher,” Dean observed with a smirk when Cas missed his shot.

 

Cas drained the last of his beer. “Just for that, I’m making you buy me another beer.”

 

Dean ended the game by sinking the eight ball. “You rack the balls; I’ll get us refills.”

 

This time, Dean bought a pitcher, and he refilled both of their glasses, although he didn’t plan on drinking more than a glass himself. Most of it was for show.

 

By the time he got back to the pool table, there were a couple of guys in jeans and t-shirts flanking Cas, who looked flushed and uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t be playing with my money,” Cas said, looking to Dean. “Ask my friend.”

 

One of the men turned as Dean approached. “Would you be interested in playing for cash?”

 

Dean shrugged. “Sure, why not? Cas? You up for it?”

 

“You were just making fun of my game,” Cas replied.

 

Dean grinned. “Yeah, there was a reason for that. Let’s get going.”

 

The men, who introduced themselves as Cameron and Rich, insisted on flipping a coin to determine who broke, even though Dean offered to let them go first.

 

Cas knew what he was doing, Dean noted. He played a sloppy game, missing just enough shots so that no one would suspect that he was a pool shark, but making enough so that he looked lucky.

 

And, in fact, when Cas sunk the eight ball to win the game, Cameron muttered something about Cas being a lucky bastard. “It’s about time something went my way,” Cas replied, finishing off his fourth beer of the night. “Haven’t had much luck lately.”

 

“Double or nothing,” Rich challenged, his blood up.

 

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”

 

The second game went much like the first, although Cas missed a few more shots, and Dean made more. He’d made it obvious that he’d stopped drinking during the last round, although Cas kept drinking steadily.

 

Cas kept up the recently divorced husband act. The only aspect he missed was hitting on the cocktail waitress who showed up halfway through the second game to give them a refill on the pitcher. Still, Dean figured that could be because Cas was turned off of women. Their opponents didn’t seem to notice one way or another at least.

 

They won the second game by the skin of their teeth. Cas was still playing sloppily, and while Dean managed to make up for it, they were cutting it close—close enough that Rich said, “Let’s play again. Same stakes.”

 

Dean glanced at Cas, whose face was flushed, and his pupils dilated, but he nodded. “Yeah, okay. Maybe the third time’s the charm.”

 

Dean tried not to stare at the way Cas’ long, clever fingers held the cue, or at his ass as he bent over the pool table, or at the thin sliver of skin showing when his shirt rode up his back above the back of his jeans. He couldn’t say that he’d never noticed Cas like this before, but that had been different.

 

That had been before the apocalypse, before he’d lost Sam, before Dean had failed with Lisa.

 

Dean couldn’t say that he’d never given any thought to fucking Cas, but it was harder to suppress those thoughts tonight.

 

Cas made a few more shots this time around, although he reacted with just enough disbelief to seem authentic. He was still drinking, and he was unsteady on his feet. Anyone but Dean would have believed him to be drunk, but playing relatively well.

 

Dean suspected that he was just that fucking good.

 

Cas just managed to win the game for them by making a difficult bank shot, sending the eight ball rolling slowly into the right corner pocket. The ball spun unsteadily, wobbling a bit on the green felt, and Dean knew that neither Cameron nor Rich would ever believe that Cas wasn’t drunk or missing shots on purpose.

 

“Good game,” Rich muttered with just enough sincerity to be believable.

 

“Fun evening,” Cas said, swaying a little bit.

 

Cameron offered an insincere smile. “It’s about time you had some luck, right?”

 

Cas’ answering smile had a bitter twist that held enough real emotion to be almost painful. “It’s been a long time since my luck has been anything but bad.”

 

The two men muttered goodbyes and then disappeared, leaving Dean with a wad of cash. “Let’s get out of here,” Dean murmured, wanting to leave while they still had some goodwill going.

 

They climbed into the Impala, and while Dean was still sober, he felt _normal_ for the first time in years. In fact, he felt pretty damn good.

 

“Here,” he said, holding out the cash.

 

Cas looked at him, his brow creasing. “All of it?”

 

“I have another source of income, remember?” Dean thrust it towards him. “Take it, Cas. Just don’t spend it all in one place, okay?”

 

Dean wished he could tell Cas not to spend his money on drugs, that life wasn’t so bad without them, but he didn’t know how to put it into words. Dean had told Cas not to change, but he knew better than anyone what kind of toll life could take.

 

Cas hesitated for a moment before he plucked the wad of bills out of Dean’s hand. “I promise.”

 

Dean wasn’t quite sure what Cas was promising, but he let it go, pulling out of the parking lot and heading back to Cicero.

 

“I had fun tonight,” Dean said, realizing only after the words left his mouth that it sounded like something a girl would say at the end of a date.

 

Fuck. This _felt_ like the end of a damn date.

 

Cas glanced over at him, and the smile on his face was real. “I did, too. More fun than I’ve had in a long time.”

 

Dean couldn’t help it. He asked, “Better than the orgies?”

 

Cas snorted, but his smile turned just a little shy. “Yeah, even better than the orgies.”


	4. Chapter 4

In the past, Cas had always procured pills and other drugs by breaking and entering abandoned houses, but that wasn’t an option right now. The risk of getting caught was too high, and as fucked up as everything was, Cas didn’t want to go to jail.

 

He needed something a little stronger than alcohol, however, and now that he had his own money, he could procure what he needed, if he could find it. He just had to figure out who was dealing in this town.

 

The first bar was a bust; it was populated mostly with older people, both men and women, and there was a relaxed, casual atmosphere that didn’t feel as though it would support dealing. The second bar was rowdier, and as Cas pushed his way through the crowd, he caught a whiff of marijuana.

 

That was more like it.

 

Cas snagged an empty barstool and ordered a pint and a shot, downing the liquor in one gulp and moving immediately to the beer. He had to approach this situation carefully if he was to get what he wanted.

 

“I haven’t seen you here before.” The girl who slipped up next to him had an inviting smile and a low-cut blouse that left little to the imagination. “You new in town?”

 

“You could say that,” he replied. “Can I buy you a drink?”

 

“I’d love one.” Her hand rested on his arm. “My name is Shelly.”

 

“Cas.” He waved the bartender over. “One of whatever the lady is having.”

 

Cas asked a few questions and let Shelly do most of the talking. Given the way she was pressing up against him, she was just as interested in a little fun as he was. “You know, it would be nice if we had something stronger,” he said wistfully after he finished his second beer.

 

Shelly gave him a hard look. “How much stronger?”

 

Cas hoped she could read the sincerity in his expression and his voice as he said, “I can party with the best of them—or the worst.”

 

Shelly smiled. “I know of a private party.”

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

They walked to the “private party,” since it was only a few blocks from the bar in one of the seedier parts of town. As Shelly led him inside the house, the smell of marijuana hit him like a wave, and Cas smiled. He could probably get high just from the secondhand smoke.

 

Shelly introduced him to half a dozen people, and Cas knew he wouldn’t be able to recall who any of them were later. He had to stay sober enough to get himself back to Dean’s place—eventually—but right now he had every intention of getting high as a fucking kite.

 

The thick blunt being passed around reached Cas, and he breathed in with a sigh of relief. When asked what he did, Cas claimed to be between jobs. “I’m staying with a friend at the moment.”

 

“And where were you before that?” one of the men asked. He looked to be in his early twenties, his long dark hair falling over his eyes.

 

Cas offered an eloquent shrug. “I was a soldier.”

 

“Iraq or Afghanistan?” another asked.

 

“Both.” Although not entirely true, Cas _had_ been to both countries, and relatively recently, too.

 

“Heavy stuff, man,” was one reaction.

 

Cas smiled. “It was.”

 

After that, Cas found himself floating in a steadily growing haze. When the blunt was gone, Shelly grabbed his hand and led him to an empty bedroom. “I’ve got E, too,” she whispered in his ear. “It’ll make you fly.”

 

Cas felt himself stiffen, remembering a time when he really could fly, without chemical aid. For a moment, he thought about leaving, about abandoning this whole affair as a bad idea, sobering up, and going back to Dean’s. Shelly was too high to notice his sudden change in mood, though, and she was already searching her pockets for the pills.

 

Shaking off the agitation Shelly’s description had brought—Cas would _never_ fly again, no matter how many pills he took—he leaned back on the bed and took the pill she held out.

 

He couldn’t fly, but he could forget. That would have to be enough.

 

~~~~~

 

Dean had immediately regretted handing Cas that wad of cash, mostly because he knew what Cas was likely to spend it on—and he’d been right. He had no idea what Cas was doing for money, because he was surely running low by now, but Dean didn’t want to ask.

 

Just like he didn’t want to ask who Cas was spending his time with, and how he was getting the drugs, or what he was taking—although Dean had smelled pot smoke on him.

 

Dean stared down at Cas’ sleeping form on the couch, where he was curled up under a couple of blankets. “Come on, Cas. Up and at ‘em. I need to talk to you.”

 

“Go away.”

 

“You know, I always had you pegged as a morning person,” Dean said cheerfully. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. Come on.”

 

“I’m only a morning person if I haven’t gone to bed the night before,” Cas muttered. “Fuck off, Dean.”

 

“Language,” Dean replied. “I’m not going to let you get back to sleep, you know.”

 

“You fucking suck.”

 

Dean just grinned and went to pour a couple of cups of coffee.

 

Cas stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes later, his face pale and dark smudges under his eyes. Dean raised his eyebrows. “When was the last time you took a shower?”

 

“Are you suggesting that I smell?”

 

“I’m suggesting that you look like you haven’t eaten or showered this week,” Dean shot back. “You look like shit.”

 

“And that’s what you got me up to talk about?”

 

Dean sighed. “No, it isn’t. I’ve got Ben this coming weekend.”

 

“And?” Cas asked, his expression arch, one eyebrow lifted. “You don’t need me around to play video games.”

 

Dean frowned. “Remember what I told you about not letting this touch Ben? I meant it. Be sober, Cas. Promise me.”

 

Cas’ gaze was fuzzy, lacking the old intensity. Dean would never have guessed how much he would miss that thousand-yard stare. “Yeah, sure, Dean. I can be sober.”

 

“Promise me,” Dean demanded.

 

Cas held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I promise. I’ll be sober when Ben’s around.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Dean hesitated. “You want to just stay in tonight? I’ll order a pizza, and I’ve got beer in the fridge.”

 

Cas gave him a strange look, and for a moment, Dean thought he might accept the offer, but then that smirk came back. “No, that’s okay. I’ve got other plans.”

 

“Who are you hanging out with, Cas?” Dean asked. “You’re never here.”

 

“Oh, you know, people,” Cas replied vaguely, with a wave of his hand. “Nobody in particular.”

 

Dean wanted to shake him. He wanted to tell Cas not to be such a fucking idiot, that there was more to life than getting high every night.

 

But how the hell was Dean supposed to convince him of that, when his own life wasn’t exactly a marvel of being satisfied?

 

“Cas—”

 

“Don’t worry about me, Dean,” Cas said, pushing off from the counter. “I can take care of myself. In fact, I’ve _been_ taking care of myself for a long time now.”

 

“You’re not the only person who lives here,” Dean said, hating the helplessness rising up in him.

 

Cas gave him a pitying look. “No, but I may be the only person not lying about who I am.”

 

Dean grabbed him by the arm and shook him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

“I _know_ I’m a useless waste of space,” Cas replied, his expression maddeningly calm. Nothing seemed to shake him when he was high like this; everything was there for his amusement. “But you seem to think that you’re _normal_. You’re a hunter, Dean. This life doesn’t suit you.”

 

Dean snarled. “This life suits me just fine, but if you want out, you know where the door is.”

 

Cas shrugged and slipped out of his grasp. “Just tell me when you want me to leave. I can probably find a couch to sleep on for a while.”

 

The anger drained out of Dean as quickly as it had risen up. No matter how angry he got at Cas, Dean couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving. He’d already lost so many people; he didn’t want to lose Cas, too.

 

“No. Don’t. I just—don’t make me choose, Cas.”

 

Cas’ face lost some of that bitter mockery. “Of course. I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

He sounded sincere enough, and Dean nodded, setting his coffee cup down on the counter. “I have to get to work. See you later.”

 

“I’ll see you,” Cas said.

 

Dean was already at work when his phone rang, and Bobby’s name showed up on the screen. “Hey, Bobby.”

 

“You still owe me a visit, boy.”

 

“Soon,” Dean said. “Maybe in a couple of weeks?”

 

Bobby sniffed. “Sure, and you can bring that ex-angel of yours, too.”

 

“Do you have any more information for me?” Dean asked.

 

“Nothing. I’ll keep looking, but you know it’s a long shot. Some things don’t have answers.”

 

“Like you and Cas coming back to life?” Dean asked.

 

Bobby grunted. “Something like that.”

 

“All right. Thanks, Bobby. I’ll be in touch.”

 

“How is Castiel?”

 

Dean’s laugh was bitter. “He’s great.”

 

“Dean?”

 

“He’s drugging himself into oblivion every night,” Dean replied. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.”

 

“You could always kick him out,” Bobby suggested.

 

“I’d rather it not come to that,” Dean replied. “Look, I’m at work, and I’ve got to clock in. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

“Take care of yourself, son,” Bobby said gruffly.

 

“You too.” Dean ended the call and tucked the cell phone back in his pocket, then took a moment to breathe.

 

He had no idea what he was going to do; Dean had no idea what he _wanted_ to do. He wished, desperately, for Sam’s presence. At least he’d have someone to bounce ideas off of, and this wasn’t something he could bring to Lisa.

 

He was, once again, on his own.

 

~~~~~

 

Cas had fallen into the same rhythm he’d found in the camp—minus the Croats. He slept most of the day, and went out at night. He met up with Shelly and her friends at the bar, or in run-down houses where the smoke was thick and sickly-sweet. He talked about how the drugs opened the mind, and paved the way to spiritual enlightenment.

 

In the camp, as a human, Cas had learned how to be charming, how to convince the reluctant to participate in orgies, how to ease the way. Now, he used that same charm to keep the drugs coming, to have casual, meaningless sex, to ease his entrance into this group of people.

 

Tonight, however, Shelly’s friends had left early, and it was just the two of them. “The road to enlightenment requires an open mind,” he said, watching the music as it moved across the room. He’d had enough cash left to purchase a few drops of acid, which he’d shared with Shelly and a few others.

 

Sharing, when he could, meant that others would share with him.

 

“This is the best kind of music. Can you hear it? It’s like a message,” Shelly said next to him, lying with her head in Cas’ lap. They were lounging in Shelly’s bedroom, in the apartment she shared with several others. She had a mattress on the floor that served as a bed, and a small card table in the corner, but that was it for furniture.

 

Cas didn’t mind; it was about what he’d had in the camp.

 

“It’s telling us that we must embrace the reflections of the universe that abide in each of us,” Cas explained, staring up at a stain on the ceiling, which seemed to be moving. He had no idea where this bullshit came from, but it entertained Shelly.

 

She giggled, squirming until she was half on top of him. “You say the funniest things. How did you learn all this stuff?”

 

“I was once an angel,” Cas confided, a bitter smile pulling at his lips. “Before I lost my grace.”

 

“You’re a fallen angel?”

 

“Yes.” He rolled his head so that he could look at her. Cas knew he was tripping, but he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t know how crazy he sounded. “Do you believe me?”

 

Shelly giggled again. “I think you’re completely loaded.”

 

“I am,” he confirmed. “Never mind.”

 

She kissed him clumsily, her hands pawing at the front of his t-shirt, and Cas tried to shake off the irritation he felt.

 

Dean, of course, knew the truth; Dean would have told him not to be such an ass. And Cas knew how far he had fallen.

 

Cas had an acute sense of his own shortcomings; he knew how weak he was.

 

Pushing Shelly away would take too much work, though, and so Cas allowed her to pull his t-shirt up over his head.

 

He went through the motions, listening to her gasps as he fingered her clit. A couple of years of practice, and Cas had become something of an expert at pleasing his partner, and he’d learned that was key to creating goodwill.

 

Goodwill, of course, being key to getting more sex and drugs, and getting her off cost Cas nothing. In fact, back in the camp, Cas had taken great pleasure in the fact that while Dean might be able to get any woman he wanted, they always came back to _Cas_ for more. Dean, on the other hand, couldn’t give a woman more than a couple of nights before making the next stop.

 

Shelly certainly seemed satisfied as she cried out in pleasure and went limp underneath him. Cas was nearing the edge, too, and he thrust rapidly until his orgasm took him over.

 

Sex was one of the few things Cas liked about being human. He still thought the whole exercise a bit strange, but he couldn’t deny that it made him feel good.

 

Sometimes he wondered why it had taken him so long to get around to having sex, since he liked it so much. Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like to have sex as an angel.

 

And sometimes Cas thought about what it would be like to have sex with Dean.

 

He flopped back on the mattress, sweaty and pleasantly sated, and yet with the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something.

 

~~~~~

 

Dean had a bad feeling from the moment he walked into an empty apartment. He’d told Cas that he had Ben for the weekend, and that he needed to be sober. Dean figured that Cas would run the same routine he had the last time Dean had had Ben for the weekend, but when Cas wasn’t on the couch when Dean walked in, he started wondering just how bad this was going to be.

 

The apartment smelled sour, like sex and B.O. and weed. Dean immediately began opening windows to air the place out.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I should probably get some of those candles like your mom has.”

 

“Yeah, it stinks in here,” Ben agreed easily. “Your place smells like weed, Dean.”

 

Dean glared at him. “Thanks, Ben. Real classy.”

 

“Come on, dude,” Ben replied, a phrase he’d probably picked up from Dean. “I have friends who are stoners.”

 

“Cas has had a hard time,” Dean defended. “It’s been tough.”

 

Ben shrugged. “Everybody has a hard life, right?”

 

“You’re way too cynical for thirteen-and-a-half,” Dean shot back.

 

“Thirteen and three-quarters,” Ben replied. “And I get it, Dean. I’m not going to tell Mom.”

 

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to reply. He wanted to thank Ben for not spilling his secrets to Lisa. He kept telling himself that it didn’t matter—he hadn’t asked Ben to lie, just to not tell Lisa everything.

 

And maybe, he thought, Lisa wouldn’t care, but Dean didn’t want to risk it.

 

“Let’s get something to eat,” he said, once he’d opened the windows to air the place out. “I bought hot dogs.”

 

Ben raised his eyebrows. “What about a vegetable?”

 

“It’s Friday,” Dean replied. “We’ll make corn on the cob. Corn is a vegetable, right?”

 

Ben laughed. “Awesome.”

 

The hot dogs were sizzling out on the tiny grill on Dean’s balcony, and the corn was boiling on the stove in short order. Dean needed to sharpen his knives, and Ben seemed to enjoy watching him, so he set out the stone and the oil.

 

“How come you won’t teach me how to shoot?” Ben asked as Dean dragged the edge of the blade against the stone.

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “When you get permission from your mom, I’ll teach you.”

 

Ben grimaced. “That’ll be the day after never.”

 

“And that’s why I haven’t taught you how to use a gun,” Dean said easily.

 

“But if _you_ talk to her about it, maybe she’ll agree to let you teach me,” Ben wheedled. “Cole’s dad takes him hunting.”

 

 “Talk to your mom,” Dean advised.

 

Ben heaved a sigh that only served to remind Dean even more of Sam at that age. The last two weeks had been hard, because having Cas around just reminded him of how much he’d lost.

 

For the last two years, Dean had done everything he could to put hunting and his old life behind him, and now he had a daily reminder of hunting, and of the family that he’d lost.

 

The door opened and Cas came stumbling inside. He looked like shit, and Dean stiffened as he realized that Cas was loaded, so high on something that he couldn’t quite focus. “Hey, Dean,” Cas said, his voice over-bright and over-loud.

 

Dean knew that his fury must have shown on his face, because Cas faltered slightly, his eyes shifting towards Ben, and by the time Dean had crossed the small apartment, Cas’ expression had gone uncertain. “Did I—”

 

“Shut up,” Dean hissed fiercely, grabbing Cas’ arm hard enough to leave bruises, and not caring. “Just shut the fuck up.”

 

This close, Dean could smell sex and sweat, as well as an acrid chemical odor he couldn’t place, and his anger went white-hot.

 

He hadn’t been this pissed off since Sam—

 

Dean ruthlessly pushed Cas outside, hauling him down the stairs and around the side of their building, where they at least had a shot of not being seen. He pushed Cas up against the tan-colored siding, which creaked under the onslaught.

 

“Dean, what—” Cas began, his pupils blown wide.

 

Dean slammed him back into the wall again to shut him up. “I told you to be sober, Cas. I fucking told you that you didn’t bring your shit around my son.”

 

Understanding dawned over Cas’ face, and his mouth twisted up into a bitter parody of a smile. “Well, now he’s seen a junkie.”

 

Dean nearly throttled him then. He doubted that this particular version of Cas would remember coming after him in an alley, tossing Dean against rough brick and beating the shit out of him because Dean had violated Cas’ faith.

 

Because Dean had said yes to Michael.

 

 _This_ Cas had lost faith in his Dean somewhere along the line; hell, this Cas had lost his faith in everything. That much, Dean might have been able to deal with—it was Cas’ life, and none of Dean’s business.

 

But Cas was making Dean choose, and as much as Dean might not want to lose Cas, he feared losing Ben more.

 

Afraid that he would strangle Cas if he kept holding onto him, Dean swung Cas around by his t-shirt and gave him a hard shove. Cas sprawled out in the grass, staring up at Dean and blinking owlishly in surprise.

 

“I can’t do this,” Dean said, and he hated how his voice came out in a choked whisper. “I didn’t want to choose, Cas, but I can’t do this. Get out of here. Don’t come back until you can stay clean—and I mean all the time.”

 

Cas snorted, his face twisted in derision. “Knew it wouldn’t be long before you lost patience.”

 

“Is that what this has been about?” Dean demanded. “Were you waiting for me to throw you to the wolves like _he_ did?”

 

Cas’ eyes flicked away, then back again, and Dean thought he saw a glimmer of regret in Cas’ face. “No. I just—”

 

“No.” Dean cut him off. “I’ve got to talk to Ben, try to repair some of the damage you just caused. He’s staying with me through Sunday, but I’m taking him out tomorrow afternoon. You can get your stuff then. You’ve got until Monday to decide what you’re going to do.”

 

Dean walked away, didn’t even look back, even though his chest ached with a combination of sorrow and anger he hadn’t felt since Sam.

 

He paused just outside his apartment door to catch his breath and calm down. Dean didn’t want Ben to see him like this—not with his anger and memories so close to the surface.

 

Dean could still hear Sam’s voice as he informed Dean that he was going after Lilith with Ruby, no matter what Dean said—and as he asked Dean to let him take Lucifer back to his cage.

 

Dean generally didn’t think about it—didn’t _want_ to think about it—but the fact that Sam had left Dean behind yet again still pissed him off. And how fucked up was that—being angry with Sam when he was suffering in hell?

 

Dean hadn’t wanted to be forced to make a choice like that again; he hadn’t wanted to choose between Cas and Ben, between a piece of his past, and what he’d chosen for his future. Dean was used to making hard choices, though.

 

After another deep breath, Dean opened the door to the smell of hot dogs. Ben had cleared off Dean’s knife-sharpening equipment and set the table. The hot dogs were on one plate, the corn on another, and the buns and condiments were set out.

 

“I, uh, pulled the hot dogs off before they burned,” Ben said. “And took care of the corn.”

 

“Thank you,” Dean said quietly. “Look, Ben—”

 

Ben shrugged. “I didn’t see anything.”

 

Dean smiled. “Fair enough.”

 

“Is he going to come back?” Ben asked softly.

 

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face. “I have no idea, son. I guess we’ll see.”

 

~~~~~

 

Cas had known he was forgetting something, and he hadn’t remembered what it was even after he’d walked into the apartment. It wasn’t until Dean had grabbed him and dragged him outside that Cas recalled that Dean had Ben for the weekend, and that he was supposed to be sober for it.

 

He clambered up from the ground and brushed himself off, trying without success to brush off the hurt he felt, or the sense that he’d really fucked up this time.

 

Cas ran a hand through his hair as he glanced up at the apartment building. He couldn’t see Dean’s apartment from this side, but Cas could imagine him sitting down to dinner with Ben. They could go on with their normal lives, while Cas was stuck. There was a part of him that wanted to turn his back and walk away, forget he’d ever heard of Dean Winchester.

 

There was nothing tying him to Dean, nothing that said he had to follow Dean’s orders, or do what Dean said. Dean wasn’t his charge, and he wasn’t Cas’ leader. There was no apocalypse to stop, no end of the world to worry about.

 

He could walk away now—and he knew he wouldn’t.

 

At some point along the way, long before he’d lost faith in Dean, Cas had transferred his loyalty from God to Dean. Even though Cas still believed that he’d made the right decision in following Dean, and in disobeying orders, even though Cas had been certain that God would not want the world to end in flames—ultimately, Cas’ first loyalty had been changed to Dean.

 

Dean had proven himself unworthy, but Cas had still followed him. _This_ Dean, though, who had saved the world, and dealt with Sam’s loss, and cared enough about his son that he would kick Cas out—

 

Cas would have followed Dean to hell and back and had— _this_ Dean, he could follow to hell and still believe in.

 

It was a fine line, but Cas had learned to appreciate subtleties.

 

Cas wasn’t sure that he’d ever be able to convince Dean that he was serious about staying sober, but he was willing to try, because in the end he couldn’t picture a life without Dean.

 

Of course, that left him at loose ends until he could go back to Dean’s—or until he could convince Dean that he was clean and sober and going to stay that way. Cas wasn’t sure that was feasible. Cas couldn’t go back to Shelly; he’d end up getting high again, and Cas suspected that his resolve wouldn’t last long in the face of temptation.

 

He didn’t have enough money left for a motel, even a cheap one, but there was a salvage yard at the edge of town, and Cas had learned from Dean how find shelter. At least the midsummer temperatures wouldn’t drop below 60 or 70, and he’d probably be just as comfortable outside as in.

 

He needed the time to get sober, to get his head on straight, and to figure out how to convince Dean to let him try again.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean pulled up in front of Lisa’s house Sunday afternoon and cut the engine. Lisa knelt next to the front walk, pulling weeds, and she rose to greet Ben as he scampered towards the house. “Hey, sweetie. Did you have fun?”

 

Ben shrugged. “Yeah. I’m going over to Trevor’s to play Wii.”

 

Lisa smiled and shared a look with Dean. “Put your things away first.”

 

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, uncertain of how to ask if he could stay for a little while because he didn’t really want to go home to an empty apartment.

 

Dean didn’t have to ask, though, because when he didn’t leave immediately, Lisa sat back on her heels and looked up at him. “It’s hot out here,” she observed. “And I could use a beer. You interested?”

 

“Yeah, that would be great,” he managed.

 

They sat down at the kitchen table, the bottles already beginning to bead up with condensation, and Dean took a long drink.

 

“How’s your friend?” Lisa asked.

 

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t—” He stopped as Ben stuck his head in the room.

 

“I’m heading to Trevor’s,” Ben announced. “See you later.”

 

“Not so fast,” Lisa replied, beckoning him over. Ben put up with her kiss on the cheek with minimal rolling of his eyes. Ben slapped Dean’s hand on his way out of the kitchen when Dean offered his palm.

 

Lisa waited until the front door slammed behind Ben before asking, “What happened?”

 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Dean was quick to assure her.

 

Lisa pursed her lips. “Dean, would you quit worrying about it?”

 

“About what?”

 

“Whatever it is that you’re worried about.” She sighed. “I don’t know what it is, but I can see you doing it.”

 

Dean began picking the label of his bottle of beer off in small strips. “You ever think that there are people you can’t save?” he asked in lieu of answering her question.

 

“Of course. There are people who destroy themselves or are destroyed by something external, even something evil.” Lisa reached out to grab his hand, stopping his nervous movements. “You know that better than I do.”

 

Dean stared at her hand—slender fingers with neatly trimmed nails, a trace of dirt leftover from weeding on her thumb. He’d always thought that hands were the best indicator of a person’s life—the hands showed age and hard work in ways a person couldn’t hide.

 

He watched as her thumb drifted across his knuckles, and traced the ridge of scar tissue Dean couldn’t remember getting.

 

“You can’t save everyone,” she said, giving his hand a final squeeze before sitting back in her seat. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

 

Dean swallowed. “Yeah. That would be great.”

 

In Lisa’s company, Dean could forget about Cas and what had happened between them, Cas’ complete disregard for his health and his future.

 

By the time he got back to the apartment, it was after nine. Dean stuck around until Ben came home, and Dean had fixed a few things Lisa hadn’t gotten around to fixing. She didn’t need his help, but Dean liked being handy, and he still felt as though he owed her. It was nice to have an opportunity to repay her.

 

From the parking lot, Dean could look up to his own balcony, and he spotted the light burning immediately. Since he knew he hadn’t left the lamp on, that meant Cas had come back.

 

He gave brief consideration to turning around and just driving off, maybe even going back to Lisa’s to bunk on her couch for the night. It was his apartment, and he could just kick Cas out—again—if Cas was anything but sober, but Dean didn’t want to deal with Cas when he was high or drunk. He just couldn’t sustain the kind of anger that had made him kick Cas out on Friday.

 

Dean was just _tired_ —tired of losing people he cared about one way or another, and ready to pack it in and give up.

 

He shook off the reluctance and headed inside, knowing that the confrontation would have to take place at some point, and it was better to get it over with now than let it fester.

 

Cas was sitting on the couch, wrists resting on his knees, and Dean stared at the back of Cas’ neck, the dark curls of hair against tanned skin, the curve of his spine.

 

“Hey,” Dean said.

 

“Hey.”

 

Cas didn’t move, and Dean walked around the couch and cautiously took a seat in his ancient, ugly recliner. “Didn’t know if I’d see you again,” he admitted.

 

“I thought about leaving.” Cas’ low, hoarse voice had his stomach twisting. “I thought about not coming back.”

 

“Why did you?”

 

“I don’t know how to be human,” Cas admitted. “I don’t know how to be sober—but I don’t know how to live without you either.”

 

Dean’s stomach gave another hard flip, and Cas looked up then. Dean could see the dark shadows under his deep-set eyes, the thick stubble and pallor, and even though Cas’ hands were trembling, and his eyes were bloodshot, he spoke clearly.

 

“You’re not on anything.”

 

“I haven’t used since you kicked me out. You told me not to.” Cas gave a bitter little laugh. “I was always good at following orders.”

 

Dean winced, but he pressed a little harder. “I can’t have a repeat of Friday, Cas. If you—”

 

“I know.” Cas cut him off impatiently, looking down again. “I—for you, I think I can do it. I want to try.”

 

Dean wasn’t sure he could stand letting Cas try, only to have him fail. “And if I slip, I’ll just plan on not coming back here,” Cas added, as though reading Dean’s mind.

 

Dean nodded slowly. He didn’t have so many friends that he could afford to lose one, not if he didn’t have to, and Dean figured he had maybe half a chance at not losing Cas.

 

“Have you eaten?” Dean asked finally.

 

Cas shook his head. “I—half the time I don’t remember to be hungry.”

 

Dean remembered Jimmy Novak wolfing down burger after burger, and he thought he understood. “You want a sandwich?”

 

“Yes. Thank you.”

 

Cas was so formal, his face so blank, that Dean couldn’t help but remember Cas as he ‘d been before falling— _Castiel_ , whom Dean hadn’t seen in months. “Hey, you okay?” Dean asked, sitting down next to Cas gingerly.

 

“I—no.” Cas glanced up again then, and Dean could read the sheer misery in Cas’ eyes. “No.”

 

The first few weeks after he’d lost Sam, Dean hadn’t been certain he’d survive. Every movement, every breath, had been painful. Dean hadn’t known how he was supposed to keep his promise to Sam. How the hell was he supposed to go on with his life, when Sam was in hell?

 

And now, he saw a reflection of that misery on Cas’ face, and Dean had no idea how to help.

 

Lisa had mostly left him alone, but Dean didn’t think that would work here. At least, Dean had _tried_ that strategy, and all that had happened was that Cas went off the rails.

 

“Okay,” Dean began, and then stopped when Cas snorted and looked away. “Fine, it’s not okay, but…” Dean cupped a hand around the back of Cas’ neck. He meant it to be a comforting gesture, but Cas looked up, and Dean saw a measure of heat in Cas’ gaze that he hadn’t expected. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

Cas nodded, the movement jerky; he’d gone very still under Dean’s hand.

 

“That other me—and you. Were you—involved?”

 

“No.” Cas’ voice was hoarse, and he sounded absolutely wrecked. “You—he lost all faith in me. He had no use for me.”

 

“I’ve always thought he was an idiot.” Dean leaned in for a hesitant kiss, his lips meeting Cas’ briefly before he pulled back again. “You should eat,” he murmured. “You’ll feel better once you do.”

 

“So you say.”

 

Dean squeezed, feeling Cas’ hot skin under his hand. “Yeah, it works for me. Want a beer?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Cas followed him to the kitchen, sitting slumped at the table as Dean threw together a few sandwiches, knowing from experience that although Cas might not realize he was hungry, he’d scarf his food once he started.

 

Sure enough, Cas plowed through two turkey sandwiches before he slowed down enough to actually taste the third. “Sorry,” Cas muttered. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”

 

“What have you been eating this weekend?” Dean asked.

 

Cas shrugged. “This and that. I was fine.”

 

“Where were you sleeping?”

 

“Here and there. You— _he_ taught me well. I know how to stay low.”

 

“I know.” Dean hesitated. “Come to bed, Cas.”

 

Cas hesitated. “I don’t—”

 

“To sleep. The bed’s big enough for both of us. I shared with—I shared with Sam often enough that we should be fine.” Dean managed to say Sam’s name without choking on it, even though it was more difficult than he’d like, given how much time had gone by.

 

Cas nodded. “I—I wouldn’t mind a shower.”

 

“Sure. Get cleaned up,” Dean replied. “I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”

 

Dean watched Cas shuffle off to his bedroom and wondered what the hell he was getting himself into. It was one thing to let Cas sleep on his couch—it was something else to fuck him, and he knew that’s where this thing between them was headed now. Dean couldn’t believe he was even giving it serious thought, but he wanted this.

 

Dean wanted this like he hadn’t wanted anything in a long time, and he couldn’t quite help but think that maybe this would give Cas the anchor he needed to stick around.

 

~~~~~

 

Cas didn’t know if this was such a good idea; he wondered if Dean understood that for all of the people Cas had slept with, Dean was the only person he’d ever _wanted_.

 

Dean was already in bed reading a battered paperback by the time Cas emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and teeth brushed.

 

“Vonnegut?” Cas asked.

 

Dean held up the book so that Cas could see the title: _Slaughterhouse Five_. “How’d you know?”

 

“It’s the author you go to when you’re worried about something,” Cas replied automatically.

 

Dean’s face was half in shadow, the lamp angled so that it would hit the pages of the book, and Cas couldn’t read his expression. “You know me really well, don’t you?”

 

“I knew _him_ ,” Cas said honestly. “Sometimes I wonder if I know _you_ at all.”

 

“Not a lot to know,” Dean replied easily. “I’m just a regular guy.”

 

“There’s never been anything ‘regular’ about you, Dean.”

 

Cas felt as though a switch had been flipped. He’d never been particularly shy about speaking his mind, or saying how he felt, but Cas couldn’t hold back now. He didn’t want to, and he couldn’t stop. He felt the need to lay it all out on the line for Dean.

 

Dean folded down a corner to mark his place and set the book aside. “I’m not him.”

 

“I know. That’s why I came back.” Cas touched Dean’s face, tilting Dean’s head towards him, and leaning in for another kiss. Dean relaxed into the touch, into the kiss, his hand finding a place on Cas’ hip. “I never thought you’d want this.”

 

Dean smiled, his expression enigmatic. “I’ve wanted this for longer than you know.”

 

There wasn’t a lot of talking after that. Cas tugged Dean closer, wanting the distraction of flesh on flesh, of hands and lips and teeth and tongues. If he lost himself in Dean, maybe Cas wouldn’t want his next high so much, maybe he could forget that he felt as though he could fly apart at any moment.

 

Dean pulled back long enough to pull his t-shirt off over his head, exposing the smooth, hard planes of his chest, the ward on his pectoral, and sending the amulet swinging. Cas closed his fist around the amulet, and Dean went still above him.

 

“I thought—I thought this was lost,” Cas managed.

 

Dean’s expression was unreadable. “You—he—” Dean stopped. “This is confusing.”

 

“Castiel gave it back to you,” Cas prompted.

 

Dean nodded. “When he gave up on his search for God, yeah. I threw it away, but Sam dug it out and held onto it for me. I found it after—I found it after I lost him.”

 

“It’s back where it belongs now,” Cas murmured, and pressed his lips to Dean’s chest briefly before swirling his tongue around Dean’s left nipple.

 

Dean groaned. “Oh, fuck, Cas. Yeah.”

 

Cas rolled, putting Dean under him, and Cas shoved his hand down the front of Dean’s boxers, taking Dean’s cock in hand, jacking him off with a slow, deliberate rhythm that soon had Dean arching up under him, whimpering a bit.

 

Dean’s hand fisted in the sheets as he came over Cas’ fist in quick spurts. Cas released him, and glanced around for something to wipe the come off.

 

“Hey, where are you going?” Dean asked, his voice slurring with exhaustion and satisfaction.

 

“I’m going to get cleaned up.” Cas ended up going to the bathroom, wiping his hand with a wad of toilet paper, flushing it when he’d managed to wipe most of it off and washing his hands.

 

Dean was a little more alert when Cas slid into bed, still half-hard. “What about you?” Dean murmured.

 

“I’m fine.” Cas put his hand over Dean’s heart. “I’ll let you return the favor some other time.”

 

“Get some sleep,” Dean ordered, the seriousness broken up by a yawn. “That’s what we both need, is sleep.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what we need,” Cas replied, placating him.

 

He watched as Dean slid down into sleep after only a few moments, but Cas couldn’t quiet his thoughts enough to follow. Cas lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Dean breathe.

 

~~~~~

 

In the two weeks Cas had been staying with him, Dean had noticed that he was unbelievably difficult to wake up in the morning, which made the fact that Cas got up with him on Monday all the more surprising.

 

“You can sleep if you want,” Dean said as he pulled on a grease-stained pair of jeans and an ancient t-shirt. “You don’t have to be up.”

 

“I might as well,” Cas replied, sitting up and beginning to look around on the floor for his clothes.

 

“I’ll drive you to the store tonight,” Dean promised, rummaging in a drawer and tossing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in Cas’ general direction. “You could use another set of clean clothes.”

 

Cas shook his head. “I’m fine.”

 

“And if you’re going to find a job, you’ll definitely need new clothes,” Dean added as though he hadn’t heard Cas.

 

Cas snorted. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

 

“You forget,” Dean replied. “Sam and I were making fake I.D. by the time we were in high school. I can get you whatever qualifications you want. Hell, I could probably teach you how to fix cars given enough time.”

 

Cas pulled the borrowed clothes on slowly. “Do we have that much time?”

 

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” Dean replied. “But I figured you’d want to start work sooner. You could use the distraction, and you’d probably be happier with money of your own.”

 

“Maybe.” Cas’ tone was grudging. “But how the hell am I supposed to go on about my business, find a job, pretend to be normal, when I don’t even know why I’m here?”

 

Cas had a point, Dean thought. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to attempt normal in Cas’ shoes either. “What if I could find out?” Dean asked, his voice low and hoarse.

 

Cas frowned. “I thought you said you didn’t have any leads.”

 

“ _Bobby_ didn’t have any leads, and I don’t know of anybody else I could ask, but I could probably try calling your counterpart.”

 

Cas frowned. “You—you mean you’d pray. For me.”

 

“To you,” Dean corrected him. “Sort of. And I wouldn’t call it praying. I’m still not really on speaking terms with God.”

 

Cas stared at Dean, clearly not comprehending. “And he’ll come?”

 

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “Maybe he won’t, maybe he’ll ignore me, but I figure it’s the only shot we have. I won’t try if you don’t want me to, though.”

 

Cas stared at his hands for a long moment, and Dean flushed, remembering just exactly how Cas’ hands had taken him apart the night before. “No. No, I think—you should. I need to know.”

 

“Okay.” Dean took a deep breath. “Look, maybe we could give it a little time, give you some time to…” He trailed off, not quite knowing how to explain what they might be waiting for. “I’ve got some time off coming,” Dean added. “We could take a long weekend and go up and see Bobby. I promised him I’d visit this summer.”

 

“Whatever you want,” Cas replied, not looking up.

 

Dean swallowed. “Right. So…you want to stop by the shop around noon today? We’ll grab lunch.”

 

“You don’t have to stay with me every minute, Dean.” Cas’ tone had a hint of that same asperity he’d perfected while still an angel, and Dean grinned. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Stop by the shop,” Dean repeated. “It’ll be good for you to get out.”

 

Cas shrugged. “Fine, if that’s what you want.”

 

“It’s what I want.”

 

Dean suspected that orders eased Cas’ mind in a way that freedom didn’t; Cas had spent millennia following directives from on high, and even in that terrifying future Dean had visited, Cas had still been following orders.

 

Cas shrugged eloquently, but Dean thought he saw a pleased smile playing around the corners of his mouth and in the lines around his eyes.

 

Dean had to leave; he needed to get to work, but after what they’d done last night, after sharing a bed, Dean felt strange just walking out.

 

“So, I’ll see you at lunch, then?” Dean asked.

 

“Yes.” Cas raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to be late.”

 

“I know.” Two quick steps took him across the room, and Dean met Cas’ lips with his own, hoping that the kiss was enough of a promise to keep Cas satisfied for the day. “I’ll see you later.”

 

Dean left before the moment could become more like a chick flick than it already was. If Sam had been around, he would be laughing his ass off.

 

~~~~~

 

Cas had no idea what to do with his time, which was one of the reasons he’d been high so much over the last week.

 

He had been a fucking angel—a warrior of God—and Cas didn’t know what to do if he wasn’t hunting and killing. Clearly, Dean wasn’t going to get with that program, but Cas missed that clarity of purpose, missed how easy it had been to go out and smite those he’d been told to smite—or to kill the Croats.

 

Right now, he was drifting, and without the drugs to ease the passage, Cas wasn’t sure what rocky shores upon which he ended up capsized.

 

And boy, was that a ridiculous metaphor, he thought.

 

After four hours of inane TV talks hows, Cas was grateful as hell for the chance to get out of the apartment. After lunch, he’d figure out what he was going to do next.

 

Cas knew the way to the garage by heart, even if he’d never stopped by in the past. Dean had told him where he worked in case of emergency, and Cas had walked past a few times, but he’d never sought Dean out.

 

Today, he stopped in front of the building and considered running yet again. If he just walked away, if he left now, Cas could live however he wished; he could take whatever he wanted, and just float through until the end of his days.

 

Instead, Cas walked into the front office, hearing the jangling of the bell above the door.

 

“Can I help you?” The young man—no more than a boy, really—sitting at the front desk was chewing on a piece of gum, appearing bored and disinterested.

 

“I’m looking for Dean,” Cas replied. “Dean Winchester? I’m supposed to be meeting him for lunch.”

 

The boy shrugged. “Go on through.”

 

Cas hesitated, and then began walking in the direction that the boy had indicated by a jerk of his head. The banging and hydraulics filled his ears, and Cas quickly spotted Dean, his legs sticking out from under an old four-door sedan.

 

“Can I help you?” The man who spoke to him was balding, portly, and eyeing Cas with some distrust. The name on his coveralls was “Tom”.

 

“I’m here to meet Dean for lunch,” Cas explained. “I’m a friend from out of town.” Tom’s silence loosened Cas’ tongue. “He asked me to meet him?”

 

Tom shrugged. “I’ll let him know.”

 

Cas watched as Tom walked over, nudging Dean’s leg with the toe of his boot. Dean rolled out from under the car and sat up, grinning at Cas as soon as he caught sight of him. He said something to Tom that Cas couldn’t make out over the din.

 

Dean walked across the tiled floor towards Cas. “Let me get washed up. There’s a place down the street that has decent food.”

 

“I’ll be outside,” Cas promised.

 

He stood with his back against the sun-warmed brick, staring up into the bright blue, cloudless sky. Cas felt empty, hollowed out, and he had no idea what Dean could want from him that Cas would still have left to give.

 

“Hey. Ready for lunch?”

 

Cas shrugged his reply and fell into step next to Dean, close enough so that their shoulders brushed every other step.

 

“The diner has a decent lunch menu,” Dean offered. “Kind of like the places Sam and I used to go.”

 

“Those places usually have good burgers,” Cas observed, noncommittally. He wanted to ask Dean if it was possible to find a hunt, because he was certain that he’d feel a hell of a lot better if he could kill something.

 

“I called Bobby this morning,” Dean said before Cas could bring it up. “I figure we can head up there next weekend. My boss didn’t have a problem with me taking the afternoon off on Friday, and I can take Monday, too.”

 

Cas didn’t know how he felt about seeing Bobby again, but he knew that Dean wanted to make a visit, and Cas didn’t want to be left alone.

 

Dean ignored the bell that rang above his head as he pushed the door of the diner open. He led the way to an open booth, and Cas slid in opposite Dean. The menus sat in a holder on the side of the booth against the wall, but Dean stayed Cas’ hand as he reached for one. “Get the cheeseburger. Trust me on this one.”

 

Cas nodded. “Yeah, okay. Sounds good.”

 

The waitress who approached their booth wore a nametag that read: “Angie” and Cas knew immediately by her expression that Dean was a regular here.

 

“Your usual, Dean?” she asked with a flirtatious smile.

 

Dean offered his best smile in return. “Yeah, and the same for my friend here.”

 

Angie grinned at him. “And you’re going to let him order for you?”

 

“He knows what’s good,” Cas replied. “And I like cheeseburgers.”

 

“Then you’re in for a treat,” Angie promised. “Anything to drink?”

 

“Coffee,” Dean replied.

 

Cas hesitated for a moment before he said, “Water, please.”

 

“You got it, sugar.”

 

Cas looked at Dean across the pale green Formica booth. “How often do you come here?”

 

“A couple days a week,” Dean admitted. “Although I try to switch it up on occasion, to keep Lisa off my back.” He shrugged. “She worries about my cholesterol.”

 

“Life is too short for that kind of thing,” Cas murmured.

 

Dean shrugged. “Lisa says she wants me around for a long time, and she says that Ben would want the same.”

 

“Any son would want his father to be alive and there for him,” Cas said uncertainly.

 

The sound that Dean made might have been a laugh. “And you and I would know, wouldn’t we?”

 

Cas was quiet. “I guess we would,” he finally agreed.

 

Dean glanced up as Angie deposited their drinks in front of them, murmuring a distracted “thanks” as she did so. When she’d gone, Dean began speaking again. “I loved my dad. With Ben, I’m beginning to understand how hard being a parent is, but my dad didn’t really know how to be a parent when my mom wasn’t around.”

 

Cas didn’t know what to say to that. “But you still loved him.”

 

Dean shrugged, the movement stiff and jerky. “He was my dad.”

 

“At least your father was present,” Cas replied, unable to stifle the bitterness.

 

Dean gave him a long, hard look. “Yeah, he was. You still believe in God, though?”

 

“I don’t have faith in him anymore, but I don’t have a choice about believing in his existence,” Cas replied. “There are times I wish I had the option.”

 

Dean cleared his throat. “I wish I could tell you that it gets easier.”

 

“It’s okay,” Cas replied. “It has to, right? I’d hate to see what would happen if it got worse.”

 

Dean shook his head. “Don’t say things like that. One thing a Winchester knows, it can always get worse.”

 

“Maybe my luck is changing,” Cas replied.

 

Dean smiled. “Maybe.”

 

~~~~~

 

One of the things Dean appreciated about living with another guy is that he felt no urge to be on his best behavior. Living with Cas—now that he wasn’t off getting high every night—was a little like sharing a motel room with Sam, mostly because neither one of them had any idea of what normal looked like.

 

Lisa was quick to say that she was no more normal than anyone else, but when she said that, Dean remembered Sam’s words, “I swore I was done hunting for good.”

 

“So what?” Dean had asked him. “You just going to live some normal, apple pie life?”

 

“Not normal,” Sam had replied. “Safe.”

 

In the end, though, Sam had been the one to reject the idea of being normal, even as he’d extracted the promise that Dean would try it out. Dean had often thought that it should have been Sam with Lisa or someone like her. Sam had four years of normal at Stanford, whereas all Dean had were four years of his childhood—and he remembered only bits and pieces.

 

Most of the time, Dean had felt out of his depth, stymied by simple things that everyone else took for granted. He could fake it; Dean hadn’t survived as long as he had by being unable to blend in, but most of the time he felt incredibly out of place.

 

Cas might have been the only person on earth who sucked at that whole normal life thing more than Dean did. It was strangely comforting.

 

“I’ll be home around noon,” Dean said over his first cup of coffee for the day. “We’ll head out for Bobby’s after that.”

 

“Why are we going to Bobby’s?” Cas asked, his hands wrapped around his own mug.

 

Dean had no idea why Cas had started getting up with him, but he’d been rolling out of bed the same time Dean did—sometimes literally—and usually was completely uncommunicative until he had his first cup of coffee.

 

Since Dean could relate, he didn’t give Cas too hard of a time.

 

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, surprised Cas had managed to get a question out, given his usual morning reticence.

 

“Why do we need to go to Bobby’s in order to contact him?”

 

“Technically, we don’t,” Dean admitted. “But I’ve never tried contacting an archangel before, and I don’t have any of that special holy oil. If calling him doesn’t work, we’ll need to start looking elsewhere, and Bobby has all of the research materials.”

 

“I see.”

 

“That, and there’s a lot more room at Bobby’s,” Dean said. “Hell, I can try contacting Cas outside in the salvage yard. I didn’t think you’d want to be around for that.”

 

“I don’t.” Cas met his eyes, and there was a wealth of pain there. “I don’t think I can.”

 

“Just another reason to hold this meeting at Bobby’s then.” Dean reached out to grasp Cas’ shoulder, and then gripped Cas’ shoulder before pulling him in close. “Besides, I promised Bobby I’d visit.”

 

“Will he really want to see me?”

 

Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’ lips and tasted the bitterness of coffee. “You’re with me, and you’ll be welcome.”

 

~~~~~

 

Cas hadn’t said much to Dean, but he’d done a lot of walking and a lot of thinking over the past few days. He felt as though he’d walked the length and breadth of Cicero.

 

In truth, Cas had expected to give into his craving for something to ease the pain by now, and he might have if he hadn’t needed to meet Dean for lunch on Monday, and if Dean hadn’t repaid him for Sunday night by giving Cas what had to be the best blowjob of his life that night when he’d come home.

 

Tuesday night, Dean had fucked him slow and steady, and Wednesday night Cas had shown Dean that he’d learned a few tricks about blowjobs over the years.

 

But it wasn’t the sex that kept Cas coming back for more, as good as that was; it was the sense of belonging. For the first time since Cas had lost his grace, since he’d lost all contact with his brethren, Cas felt as though he had a place.

 

When he’d lost his grace, Cas remembered, he’d lost Dean, too. Sam had said yes, Lucifer took up residence, and Dean had become someone Cas didn’t recognize.

 

Would he have been able to reach Dean if he’d tried harder? He would never know, and it was a moot point now.

 

And now, he had a 12-hour drive to Sioux Falls in front of him, and at the end of that trip, Cas might have the answers he sought.

 

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with those answers if he found them.


	6. Chapter 6

“You’re awful quiet,” Dean observed.

 

It was nearing midnight, and they were still a couple of hours out from Sioux Falls. They’d made good time, and the roads had been open enough that Dean had felt comfortable enough pushing the Impala a little harder to shorten the trip.

 

Cas had mostly been quiet, resting his forehead against the passenger window and staring out at the passing scenery until nightfall—and then he’d stared out into the blackness. Cas had offered to drive once, but had then fallen silent.

 

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” Cas replied, his eyes still fixed on the blackness beyond the window.

 

Dean frowned. “I don’t _want_ you to say anything. I’m just saying—you’ve been quiet. You okay with this?”

 

“It’s a little late for second thoughts now.”

 

Dean knew that Cas wasn’t just talking about their weekend trip to Bobby’s, but about everything—about all of it.

 

“If you don’t want to do this—”

 

“I want to do it,” Cas snapped, finally turning to look at Dean. “I need answers.”

 

“And Castiel is the only one I know of who can give them to us.” Dean focused on the road ahead. “Tell me something.”

 

“That would depend on what you want to know.”

 

“What if you could go back and do it all again? Even knowing everything you know, everything you’ve seen and done, would you still have rebelled?”

 

“Yes.” Cas spoke without hesitation. “I did what I believed was the right thing to do, and I still believe that it was the right choice.” A smile found its way to Cas’ lips. “We saved the world, didn’t we?”

 

“Yeah, we did.” Dean’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “We all did.”

“It was worth it,” Cas said quietly, and Dean didn't point out that Cas sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as much as Dean. Then, Cas grinned in a lightning-fast change of mood. “If only for the sex. I wouldn't have been able to appreciate that as an angel.”

 

“Why not?” Dean asked. “I mean, you told me you'd never had sex before we confronted Raphael. So, why not?”

 

“I never had any desire to do so.”

 

“I don't believe you,” Dean replied flatly.

 

Cas hesitated, and then said, “I didn't have the desire until you, but I never thought you’d—I thought you preferred women.”

 

“I do prefer women,” Dean said easily. “But there have been a few guys who have caught my attention. You're the only one I acted on it with, though.”

 

“I'm not sure how that makes me feel,” Cas admitted after a loaded pause.

 

“Feel flattered,” Dean replied.

 

Cas just grinned and went back to his contemplation of the darkness outside.

 

The silence that accompanied them for the rest of the trip was comfortable; Dean didn't even mind when Cas' hand gripped his leg as he turned into Singer's Salvage Yard. Dean gripped Cas' hand briefly before putting the Impala into park.

 

“Hey,” Dean said. He wasn't good at talking about his feelings, but he felt as though he needed to say something in this case. “Whatever happens—we're good, Cas. Right?”

 

“Yeah,” Cas replied. “We're good.”

 

They grabbed their bags from the trunk, and Dean remembered the several dozen times he and Sam had gone through the same ritual, both with their dad and just the two of them.  How many times had they arrived at Bobby's late into the night, stumbling inside to crash on the couch, or a spare bed, or even the floor?

 

How many times had Bobby stayed awake to meet them with a gruff hello and a handshake?

 

It had been too long, Dean thought as they approached the house with its lit porch. He should have come back sooner.

 

The front door swung open, and Bobby greeted them in the entranceway. “I’m glad you two could make it. How was the drive?”

 

“Same old drive.” Dean ushered Cas into the house. “Glad to be here, though.”

 

Bobby nodded. “Well, if you’re tired, I cleared out the spare room upstairs. You can share the bed, or flip for it. The couch down here is free, too.”

 

“We can share,” Dean replied. “Cas? You want to take first shower?”

 

Cas gave him a sharp look, indicating that he knew exactly what Dean was doing, but he shrugged. “Sure. Thanks for having us, Bobby.”

 

“Good to see you,” Bobby replied gruffly.

 

Cas disappeared up the stairs, leaving Dean alone with Bobby for the first time in months. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Bobby huffed out a sound that might have almost been a laugh. “Get over here, boy.”

 

He pulled Dean into a warm embrace, which Dean returned. “It's good to see you.”

 

“Well, come around more often, and maybe you won't miss me so much,” Bobby shot back. “You want something to drink?”

 

“Yeah, I could use something.” Dean followed Bobby into the kitchen. “So, uh, you mind taking Cas somewhere tomorrow?”

 

“You have a place in mind?” Bobby asked.

 

Dean shrugged. “I need to try to get in touch with archangel Castiel, and I think it would be better if Cas wasn't around for that.”

 

Not much got past Bobby, and his sharp eyes peered at Dean from beneath the brim of his battered trucker's cap. “So, it's like that, is it? Thought so.”

 

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “He's just getting back on his feet, Bobby. I don't think he could take seeing some version of himself who got everything he wanted. Besides, Cas doesn't want to see him.”

 

“And how are you going to do that?” Bobby asked.

 

“I'm going to shout at him for a while.” Dean took a long swallow of his beer. “No guarantee it'll work, but it's worth a shot.”

 

“That's true enough.” Bobby went quiet for a long moment before asking, “And what about you? I remember what happened the last time you spoke with him.”

 

Dean shook his head. “It's different now.”

 

Bobby raised his eyebrows, but he didn't press further. “All right. I have a couple of errands to run. I could use some help.”

 

Dean knew how independent Bobby was, especially after he got the use of his legs back, and he appreciated the offer. “Thanks.”

 

“Don't thank me,” Bobby replied. “I'll be putting him to work.”

 

~~~~~

 

Cas had known that Dean wanted to speak to Bobby alone, probably to talk about how he was going to contact Cas' double. Plus, he was well aware of Dean and Bobby's history, and from what Dean had said, Cas also knew that they hadn't seen one another in a long time.

He was still awake when Dean slipped into bed beside him, waiting for Dean to press close against him, and rolling over when Dean stayed on his own side. “Hey,” Cas murmured, slinging an arm over Dean's waist. “You okay?”

 

“I'm great.”

 

Dean was lying; Cas could feel the tension in Dean's body, how stiff his shoulders were, and he pressed his forehead to Dean's back. “It's okay.”

 

Cas received no response, other than Dean pressing back into his chest and putting his arm on top of Cas' to hold him in place.

 

Cas was the first one to wake in the morning. They had shifted during the night, and Dean had rolled onto his stomach, squeezing Cas onto a thin sliver of the mattress on his side. It didn't take much for Cas to roll off the bed, clambering to his feet and pulling on the first pair of pants that came to hand.

 

Bobby was already up, a pot of coffee brewed, and he waved at it vaguely. “You remember where the mugs are?”

 

“I think so,” Cas replied, reaching into the cupboard next to the fridge. He poured a mug and sat down across from Bobby. “So, where are we going today?”

 

Bobby grunted, possibly in appreciation for Cas’ perception, although he wasn’t certain. Cas couldn’t always read Bobby very well. “There’s a possible haunting about an hour’s drive away, and I need to pick up some parts. I’d have sent Dean, but he's going to be busy.”

“You were saving the haunting for him?” Cas asked.

Bobby shrugged. “I wasn't sure whether Dean would bring that boy of his, so I wasn't going to assume he’d take care of it.”

  
“Have you met Ben?”

“Once, when I was driving through Cicero on my way back from a hunt. I told Dean not to rearrange his plans for me.”

Cas could hear the carefully disguised hurt in Bobby's voice, and he was suddenly struck by the fact that Dean had _wanted_ Cas to meet Ben. “Dean is—he's afraid of losing what he has, and hunting took everything from him. He doesn't want that to touch Ben.”

This time, Cas couldn't begin interpret Bobby's grunt, and he was prevented from pressing by Dean's appearance in the kitchen. Dean was dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and a gray t-shirt, and Cas wasn't ashamed to admit—at least within the privacy of his own mind—that the sight made him wish that they could stay in bed all day.

“Hey,” Dean said with a smile. “Catching up?”

“Something like that,” Bobby replied.

“What’s first on the menu for today?” Dean asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee with familiar ease.

“Hunt a couple of hours away,” Bobby replied. “It's probably nothing, but I thought we'd check it out. And I need some parts, so I'm going to put your boyfriend to work.”

Dean choked on his coffee, and Cas hid his grin behind his coffee mug. “Great. Uh, you guys want breakfast? Come on, Cas. I'll teach you to scramble eggs.”

Cas shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He would do anything to avoid talking about Dean’s plans, and the possible appearance of the archangel Castiel.

 

Cas would be grateful when this was all over, and he had his answers, and he could forget everything.

~~~~~~

Dean knew that leaving Cas with Bobby all day was a calculated risk. He hadn't been sure Cas would even play along, but every instinct he had told Dean that he didn't want Cas meeting his double.

He had no real plan for contacting the archangel Castiel, other than standing out in the middle of the salvage yard and calling Cas—no, Castiel's—name. Dean hadn't tried calling for Castiel in months, and it chapped his ass a little to do it now.

Dean wondered if Cas knew that—if this fucked-up version of Cas understood how much Dean didn't want to deal with _Castiel_ , who tended to pop in and leave again without so much as a goodbye.

“Castiel!” Dean had been yelling for about an hour straight now. It felt wrong to be using Castiel’s nickname, given that _Cas_ was currently with Bobby and was about as profane as Castiel was sacred. “Come on! Give me a break here!”

“What did you want, Dean?”

He turned to find Cas about a hairsbreadth from his face. “Personal space, Cas.”

It was far too easy to fall back into the old patterns, Dean thought. Castiel far too close, his gaze as intense as it had been the first time Dean had seen him. “Still juiced up, I see,” Dean observed, more to fill the silence than anything else.

“I am as I was the last time you saw me,” Castiel replied. “What did you want?”

“No hello?” Dean snarked, suddenly wanting a rise out of Castiel, a reaction. Dean wanted some acknowledgment that there had once been some sort of bond between them, that they’d meant something to one another. “No how are you?”

“I don't do small talk.”

“Yeah, you never were one for small talk,” Dean replied. “I need some answers.”

Castiel stared at him. “If I can help you, I will.”

“I need to know what Cas is doing here,” Dean replied.

Castiel frowned. “I'm standing right here, Dean. You called me.”

“You have to know that's not what I meant.” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. “You don't keep an eye on things around here?”

Castiel breathed out a deeply put-upon sigh. “Yes, I 'keep an eye on things,' as you so eloquently put it.”

“So, you know why your double from 2014 is here?” When Castiel hesitated, Dean decided to push. “He needs to know. It's only fair.”

Castiel opened his mouth, and Dean held up a hand. “And if you say, 'God works in mysterious ways,' so help me...”

The corners of Castiel's mouth twitched up in the closest approximation to an actual emotion that Dean had seen on his face in years. “As far as I know, it _was_ God.”

“And? So?” Dean prompted. “I'm going to need a little more than that.”

Castiel frowned. “It's difficult to explain.”

Dean found a nearby junker and sat down on the hood. “We've got all day.”

Castiel remained where he was, standing ramrod straight. “When Zachariah sent you to the future, he also created the future.”

“Okay, what?” Dean asked.

“Time is fluid,” Castiel said, sounding just a little frustrated. “Humans think of it as a linear construct, when it is not.”

“I couldn't change the past when I went back,” Dean pointed out, a little puzzled.

“But that was...different. That was the past, and there were certain things that needed to happen. The future is much more malleable.”

“Fine, so what does that have to do with Cas?”

“The act of observation changes things. Zachariah essentially created a set of doubles, people we would have become had things been different.” Castiel looked as though he was struggling to find the right words. “From my limited understanding, that other me asked for a second chance as he was dying, and because Zachariah's actions created him, God gave him that chance.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “That's it? No strings attached?”

“Why should there be strings?” Castiel appeared honestly puzzled. “He had his prayer answered. There are few who can say the same.”

Dean shook his head. “How many people can say the same? That's just it, Castiel. Why him?”

“Why do you keep calling me 'Castiel?'”

Dean took a deep breath. “Because you're not him, and he's Cas.”

Castiel's eyes were knowing. “I see.”

“Do you?” Dean demanded. “Do you really? Because everything he went through, it fucked him up, and I'm the one picking up the pieces. Some answers might help.”

Castiel glanced down at the ground, and Dean shifted uncomfortably. He didn't think Castiel even knew how to break eye contact. “He received the same second chance that I did.”

“What about the other me, or the other Sam?” Dean felt a sudden flare of hope. “Sam—he could—”

“Sam did not request a second chance.” Castiel dealt the blow gently, but Dean felt it all the same. “He made his choice, and he asked you to honor it.”

“What do you think I've been doing?” Dean cried. “I've fucking done everything he asked me to do!”

“Then perhaps it is time to do your own thing.” Castiel was gone a moment later without so much as a word of goodbye yet again, and Dean clenched his fists, trying to bring his emotions under control.

It wasn't fair, he thought, with bitterness. It wasn't fair that he’d lost Sam—hell, it wasn't even fair that Cas had lost heaven. Maybe Cas _had_ prayed at the very end—maybe the fucked-up stoner that he'd been had asked for a second chance, but Dean doubted that _this_ was what he had in mind.

Dean would give up just about anything to have Sam back—even Cas. And the _really_ fucked up thing about it was that Dean suspected that Cas would say the same thing about Dean and heaven. The truth of that had been obvious from Castiel, and how he'd gone right back to his old self as soon as he'd had a chance, leaving Dean behind.

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face and stared up at the sky. “Fuck you,” he muttered, although he had no idea who he should be directing that curse to. “Just fuck you.”

~~~~~

Cas had remembered Bobby as a good traveling companion, and in this case, at least, his memory had been accurate. Bobby didn’t ask any personal questions during the two-hour drive; he didn’t ask how Cas was doing, or what Cas’ plans for the future might be. Instead, he started by asking what Cas knew about an exorcism ritual he’d found in an ancient text. That led to a conversation on the best way to consecrate land, lesser-known uses for holy water, and the best texts for the identification of supernatural creatures.

They were pulling up in front of the house with the potential ghost before Cas knew it. “Look,” Bobby began. “Maybe you should write some of this stuff down.”

“Write it down?” Cas asked blankly.

“I know Dean doesn’t hunt anymore, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still hunts to go on.” Bobby stared at his hands on the steering wheel. “What you know could be useful to a lot of people.”

“I’ll think about it,” Cas managed.

“See that you do.”

Cas climbed out of Bobby’s ancient van, taking the proffered EMF meter in his left hand, a shotgun full of rock salt in his right. Even though he’d only worked with Bobby a handful of times, and not even _this_ Bobby, hunting was familiar territory, and Cas let Bobby take the lead.

He didn’t mind following orders; he’d never gotten used to giving them, and he didn’t care to. Cas had followed revelation from on high, and he’d followed Dean, but Cas had never been a leader.

By the time they figured out that the potential haunting, and that the problem was a family of possums living under the porch, they’d dropped into an easy rapport. Cas vaguely remembered what it was like, to have someone watching his back that wanted to be there. He hadn’t taken the time to get to know anyone in the camp, since most of the people who came through died in short order. And Dean had been lost to him since the moment that Sam said yes.

In truth, Cas’ memories of when he was falling, but before he’d lost his grace entirely, were fuzzy at best, hazy with a welter of emotion that he’d never quite been able to sort out. There were moments that stood out with a sharp, painful clarity, of course—Cas could remember exactly where he’d been when he’d found out that Sam said yes, and the rest of the angels had fled. He could recall how it had felt for his grace to slip away, and the expression on Dean’s face as he’d come to the harsh realization that he’d lost his brother.

And now, those same emotions were sharp and clear; without the dulling effects of alcohol or drugs, Cas sometimes feared that he’d be cut to shreds. There were days when it was all he could do to get out of bed and get dressed, and so it was something of a relief to have a task, and have someone like Bobby tell him how to go about it.

Because Mrs. Harris was the friend of a friend, they cleared out the animals and used a few broken paving stones to block the entrance.

“How did she find you?” Cas asked when they climbed back into the van after it was all done. His unused muscles were a little sore, and he could feel rivulets of sweat running down his back under his t-shirt.

Bobby snorted. “Martha’s the neighbor of a hunter I know. He was out of town, and the idiot gave her my number in case of emergencies.” His face softened slightly. “Her husband was killed a few years ago by a wendigo, and so she’s more aware—and more paranoid—than most.”

“She’s lonely,” Cas observed.

“That, too. Since Rudy was out of town, she called me—about half a dozen times. I’d have sent Dean to charm her if I could.”

Cas grinned. “Dean could charm his way into or out of just about anything.”

“You didn’t do too badly yourself.”

“She’s lonely,” Cas repeated. “It wouldn’t take much.”

Bobby grunted and shook his head, but he didn’t reply. Cas helped Bobby load car parts into the van at their next stop, and then they stopped by the grocery store for beer and steaks. It was late afternoon by the time they drove through the gates of Singer’s Salvage Yard, and Dean was half-hidden under the hood of the Impala.

Fear swamped him, and Cas wondered what it meant. Had Dean succeeded? Had he been able to get the answers that Cas desperately needed?

“I’ll take care of the groceries, and we can get the parts tomorrow,” Bobby said knowingly. “You go talk to Dean.”

“I don’t—”

“Go on,” Bobby insisted. He climbed out of the van and grabbed the paper sack with the groceries. “Dean! I’m grilling. You’ve got half an hour.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” Dean called without emerging from under the hood.

Cas walked over and leaned up against the Impala’s bumper next to Dean, uncertain of what to say, or how to broach the subject. “Dean—”

“Let’s take a walk.” He grabbed his shirt and pulled it back on.

Cas had no choice but to follow, hands jammed in his pockets, his heart beating wildly. What he wouldn’t give for a Valium right about now, and he was absurdly grateful that he didn’t have one. There was no way Cas could have resisted the urge to use.

“Did he come?” Cas asked after a moment.

“Yeah, he showed,” Dean said briefly.

Cas bit back his impatience, sensing Dean’s struggle.

“The short answer is that you asked for it, and you got it.” Dean stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Castiel said sending me to the future made it exist. I don’t know. I didn’t understand it.”

Cas thought that he might. “The act of observation changes something.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s what Castiel said.”

“I am him—or he’s me.” Cas forced a smile. “We’re the same person.”

“Nah,” Dean replied. “He’s more of a dick.”

Cas huffed out a laugh. “Is that so?”

“At least you don’t run around making cryptic pronouncements and then disappearing.”

“No, these days I prefer direct pronouncements, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean looked at him, and his eyes were infinitely weary. “Cas—”

“How much time do we have?” Cas asked, wanting Dean so much it scared him.

“Enough.” Dean grabbed his arm and hauled Cas after him to an old station wagon. Dean opened the hatchback and pushed Cas inside. Cas wasted no time shoving his jeans down, his cock already half-hard.

In moments, Dean had dropped his own jeans, his weight trapping Cas beneath him. Dean got a thigh between Cas’ legs, his hips pumping as he found the friction they both needed.

Cas matched Dean’s movements, gripping Dean’s waist, his sweaty palms making him dig in harder. Dean grunted and thrust faster. Cas heard his own voice saying, “Please, please, yes, fuck, yes,” over and over, like a mantra.

The hot summer air closed in around them, and all Cas could hear was the faint squeak of metal, their harsh breathing, the slap of sweaty skin on skin. When he came, it was with a low groan, and Dean thrust a few more times before he jerked helplessly, burying his face in the juncture of Cas’ neck and shoulder.

Dean flopped down on top of him, breathing deeply, and Cas ran a hand through Dean’s damp hair. They lay there for a long, peaceful moment.

“You know, Sam and I used to play out here.”

“Yeah?”

“When we were little.”

Cas brushed Dean’s forehead with his lips. “Yeah.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it feels wrong to be here without him.”

“Is that why you never visit Bobby?”

“Part of the reason.”

Cas just held on to him.

~~~~~

Dean had no idea what Bobby thought of the fact that they’d disappeared into the salvage yard, then immediately headed upstairs to take a shower. Bobby didn’t say anything about it, though, just handed each of them a beer and said they were just in time for dinner.

Over steaks and grilled vegetables, Dean and Bobby began swapping stories as Cas listened, a half-smile on his lips. Dean didn’t know how Cas felt about the day’s revelations, but he appeared more relaxed than Dean had expected.

Something inside Dean uncurled as Bobby told Cas about the first time John Winchester had shown up with his boys in tow. There had been no one he’d been able to talk about Sam with, and he hadn’t known how to talk to Bobby, whose grief was nearly as potent as Dean’s. With Cas there, however, it seemed easier to tell old tales.

Bobby excused himself around midnight, but Dean wasn’t quite ready for bed, and Cas didn’t seem to be in any hurry either.

“So, how did it go today?” Dean asked, the beer buzz he had going making it easier to ask, easier to talk about Sam and hunting, and all the things Dean didn’t think about these days.

Cas smiled, blue eyes dark. He hadn’t shaved for a few days, but even though he looked a little rough, the shadows in his eyes weren’t nearly so deep. “It wasn’t a haunting; there were possums under the porch.”

Dean laughed. “It happens.”

“I didn’t mind,” Cas admitted. “It was good to get out, and to be hunting again.”

“You miss it?”

“You don’t?” Cas asked.

Dean thought about that for a long moment, staring at the now-empty bottle in front of him. “I don’t miss getting the shit kicked out of me on a regular basis, and there’s a lot to be said for not moving around all the time, but there are days...”

He thought about what Castiel had said, about it being time for Dean to do something for himself, and he wondered if it would be easier to go back to it now that he had someone to watch his back again.

“What about you?” Dean asked, realizing that Cas hadn’t said anything. “Do you miss it?”

“Yes.” The response was immediate and sincere, and Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Cas continued before he could. “But if it’s a choice between you and hunting, I would choose you every time.”

Dean blinked and tried to remember the last time someone had put him first, before everything, even before what they most wanted.

He couldn’t.

“Cas—”

“There’s no choice, Dean.” Cas didn’t look at him directly. “Hunting is important, but you’re everything that matters.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. Okay.” He had no idea what to say to that. “You know, maybe we could go on a hunt or two. On the weekends I don’t have Ben.”

“We don’t have to.”

“I know we don’t have to, but maybe it would be good.” Dean reached out to wrap a hand around the back of Cas’ neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “If it would help you.”

“It might,” Cas admitted. “It felt good, helping someone, even if it was just possums.”

“Then we’ll make it work.” Dean pulled back and gave Cas a long look. “So, you okay with what Castiel said?”

Cas shook his head. “I still don’t know why me.”

“Apparently you were the only one who asked for it,” Dean said, and he thought he’d done a decent job at keeping the bitterness out of his voice.

Cas gave Dean a long look. “It’s still not fair. You should have gotten Sam back.”

“It’s okay,” Dean replied, and he almost meant it. “You going to be okay?”

“I’ve got you.” Cas smiled sweetly and easily, and Dean thought that maybe he believed him.

And maybe, Dean thought, even though they’d both lost so much, they could make it work. It was more than he’d thought he’d have after losing Sam.

 

He and Cas had each other now, and that would be enough.


End file.
